AN INTRODUCTION 



MENTAL PHILOSOPHY, 



ON THE 



INDUCTIVE METHOD. 



BY 

#L\ a MORELL, A.M., LL.D. 



LONDON: 
LONGMAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, AND ROBERTS. 

1862. 



PREFACE 



Some eight years ago I published a small work, entitled 
"Elements of Psychology," Part I., in which I gave a 
brief sketch of the development of the intellectual 
faculties, and expressed my intention of completing that 
sketch by a similar analysis of the emotions and the will. 
That intention has never been fulfilled. On reconsidering 
the subject, I found that the whole treatment of psy- 
chology required to be thrown into a more regular and 
scientific form ; that outlines needed to be filled up with 
details ; and that the speculative element required to be 
more completely eliminated from the inductive applica- 
tion of facts. In place, therefore, of perfecting the 
sketch already published, I determined to commence 
again de novo ; to enter more minutely into the analysis 
of the intellectual powers ; to carry that analysis onward 
to the phenomena of volition and feeling ; and then to 
issue the whole in a complete form. This determination 
I have now carried into effect. The work herewith 
presented to the public is, consequently, not in any 
sense a re -elaboration of the former one. It is entirely 
distinct, both in its method and in its execution, and 

a 2 



iv PREFACE. 

will be found, I venture to hope, more directly calculated 
to excite interest and suggest renewed effort in the cause 
of psychological inquiry. 

It may be useful to the student, as it is certainly just 
to the authors, to indicate here, in the preface, some of 
the sources from which I have derived assistance, in 
working out the systematic view of psychology contained 
in the following pages. And, first of all, let me advert 
to the labours of those who have been for some time 
investigating psychological questions from the basis of 
physiology. Since the time when Sir C. Bell discovered 
the distinction between the sensational and the motor 
nerves, and Dr. Marshall Hall followed it up by the 
demonstration of the phenomena of reflex action, the 
attention of physiologists has been much drawn to the 
elucidation of the functions of the nervous system 
generally, in relation to mental manifestations. Dr. 
Carpenter, in his " Human Physiology," took up Dr. 
Marshall Hall's line of research, and showed that the 
phenomena of reflex action, when traced upwards, are 
found to exist, not only unconsciously, but in connexion 
with sensations, also, thus producing actions of which 
we are cognizant, but over which we exercise no volitional 
control; nay, that the cerebral hemispheres themselves 
may be set in action by various causes, and give rise to 
mental results with which the consciousness itself is 
frequently unacquainted, and with which the will has 
nothing whatever to do. Dr. Laycock, again, in his work 
on the " Mind and Brain," has shown the correlation of 
the physical and mental functions from the most varied 
points of view, and laid the foundation for a system of 



PREFACE. . V 

Medical Psychology, which future efforts will have to 
work out into its many practical results. In addition to 
those above-mentioned (who may be regarded as the 
pioneers), several other writers, viz., Sir H. Holland,* 
Sir B. Brodie,f Dr. Noble, of Manchester, J Mr. Robt. 
Dunn, of London, § and Mr. G. H. Lewes, || have 
written popular treatises on psychology in its connexion 
with cerebral physiology, which have tended to dissemi- 
nate and establish many important facts and principles 
hitherto but little known or regarded by the ordinary 
writers on mental philosophy. Physiologists on the 
Continent of Europe have also, for some time past, been 
engaged in similar researches, amongst whom the names 
of Muller, Cams, Virchow, Wagner, Brown Sequard, 
Lotze, and Volkmann deserve to be specially mentioned. 
Not being myself an experimental physiologist, I have 
based many of the doctrines here brought forward upon 
the results which have followed from the investigations 
of these and similar writers ; and I am glad to take the 
present opportunity of acknowledging the great debt we 
owe, as psychologists, to the growing researches of 
physiology, in this department. 

I must refer, next, to the modern school of German 
Psychology, more particularly that which has sprung out 
of the life and labours of Herbart. Herbart had the 
merit, during the long period that German Philosophy 

* " Chapters on Mental Physiology." 

t " Psychological Enquiries." 

% "Medical Psychology." 

§ " Physiological Psychology." 

|| " The Physiology of Common Life." 



VI PREFACE. 

was wrapped in the dreams of Idealism, of maintaining 
a realistic basis in all his speculations, and of never 
merging the facts of consciousness in mere dialectical 
forms and phrases. As the rage for these absolute 
systems gradually passed away, the value of the Her- 
bartian psychology began to gain credit with the 
philosophical public ; and, up to the present time, this 
credit has been steadily increasing. The principal 
writers, who during the last few years have tended to popu- 
larize and establish the fundamental ideas of Herbart's 
Psychology, are Drobisch,* Waitz,f and Volkmann,| to 
whom might be added many other authors who have 
applied the same principles to particular departments of 
philosophical investigation. § The whole doctrine of the 
elaboration of ideas, — their action and reaction, — the 
method of their passing in and out of consciousness, — 
their blending by the law of similarity, — and their com- 
bination in groups and series, &c, is due mainly to the 
labours of the Herbartian school; and, though I have 
here reconstructed the whole in accordance with my 
own general views of mental philosophy, yet I must freely 
acknowledge that, without the aid of these authors, I 
should, in all probability, have never been able to combine 

* Erste Grundleliren der Mathematischen Psychologic 1850. 

t Lchrbuch des Psychologic als Naturwissenschaft. 1849. 

J Grundriss der Psychologic 1856. 

§ I have only this week met with an intelligent German (Dr. 
Pick) who has been lecturing before many learned Societies in 
Germany, France, and England, on the subject of Memory and 
the Association of Ideas ; — the groundwork of his lectures being 
laid entirely in the principles of the Herbartian Psychology. 



PREFACE. Vll 

the phenomena of the human mind as they now appear 
into one connected psychological system. 

In addition to those philosophical writers who repre- 
sent the school of Herbart, properly so called, I ought also 
to acknowledge my obligations to Professor George, now 
of Rostock (Lehrbuch der Psychologie), for his elaborate 
investigations into the processes of sensation and percep- 
tion ; to Professor Lazarus, of Berne (Das Leben der 
Seele), for his analysis of the psychological basis of 
language; to Professor Pichte, of Tubingen (Anthro- 
pologie), for many valuable hints respecting the precon- 
scious phenomena of the human soul ; and to Professor 
Ulrici, of Halle (Glauben und Wissen, Logik, &c), for 
his admirably clear and lucid statements respecting the 
fundamental laws of the human intelligence, and the 
processes by which our knowledge, our natural beliefs, 
and our personal convictions, are constructed in accord- 
ance with them. Neither ought the long-continued 
labours of the late lamented Beneke to be forgotten — 
labours which, although they have not issued in any 
distinct school, have yet acted more or less directly upon 
all the phases of modern psychology, as well as its 
varied applications to practical life. 

Amongst modern English Psychologists, the author to 
whom I have been most indebted in this work is Mr. Her- 
bert Spencer ; * more especially to the very able analysis 
which he has given of the process of reasoning in its 
qualitative and quantitative forms. Of course, in a 
purely psychological work, it is not necessary, and would 
not have been proper, to enter, with any detail, into 
* Principles of Psychology. 



Vlll PREFACE. 

logical questions ; but, so far as I have touched upon the 
theory of reasoning at all, I have followed to a large 
extent the pathway which he has pointed out; and 
which appears to me the most successful analysis which 
this subject has yet received in our own country. 

With regard to the method which I have followed in 
the general treatment of the subject, some few explana- 
tions will be necessary. The data of mental science are 
presented to us in the actual phenomena of the human 
mind when viewed in its mature and developed state. 
To keep strictly in accordance with the inductive 
method, as employed in natural science, we ought to 
take these phenomena as we find them, arrange and 
classify the facts, analyse those which are complex into 
their simpler elements, and thus proceed gradually from 
the mature to the more primitive forms of mental 
activity. This method would be the only possible one 
were we really standing at the historical commencement 
of the science, and making our first efforts towards its 
elucidation. This, however, is not the case. The facts 
of the human mind, and their relation to vital phe- 
nomena, have been investigated over and over again, so 
that the materials, in their simpler forms, lie already 
before us, and only need to be properly comprehended 
in relation to each other in order to give us a. connected 
view of mental science. 

The question, therefore, now presents itself to the 
psychologist, whether it may not better subserve the 
purpose he has in view, to accept the results which have 
been already gained, and endeavour to reconstruct them 
synthetically, so as to exhibit the structure of the human 



PREFACE. IX 

mind in the natural, or, as it might be better termed, the 
genetic order of its growth. This latter plan I have 
adopted, as combining many advantages, although not 
being, perhaps, so strictly in consonance with the more 
usual method of inductive science. The inductive method, 
indeed, admits both of the analytic and synthetic treat- 
ment of phenomena ; and when considerable progress 
has been made in any line of research, and many of the 
simpler elements have been extricated (as, for example, in 
chemistry), it will frequently be found highly conducive 
to scientific progress to use these elements synthetically, 
and reconstruct out of them the phenomena of nature 
with which we are familiar in their complete and 
complex form. Some such a reconstruction I have 
here attempted in regard to mental phenomena; 
and the reader will find the advantage of this method of 
procedure by not having his mind confused with too 
many facts at the commencement, and by seeing the 
elements arrange themselves into their proper order as 
we go forward from one step to another. 

With regard to the execution of the work, I may here 
remark that I have always kept before my eyes a whole- 
some horror of creating an overgrown and unwieldy 
book. I have consequently studied brevity and com- 
pression as far as possible, laying the chief stress upon 
the great points to be kept in view, even, perhaps, 
to the fault of repetition ; and leaving the minor results 
and applications for the present very much in abeyance. 
Some of the analyses (such as that of the philosophy of 
language) will, I fear, be found too compressed ; but 
I would rather err on this side than the other, and leave 



X PREFACE. 

the less important questions for future development and 
illustration, according as experience and criticism may 
show that they are needed. 

As to the phraseology employed, I have kept as near 
as possible to well-known and universally-received terms, 
only employing others when there seemed to be an abso- 
lute necessity for it. The principal — indeed, the only — 
novelty, I believe, in this way, is the adoption of the 
term "Residua" As some expression, however, is 
absolutely necessary to embody the idea of Residua as 
employed in the Herbartian psychology, and adopted in 
the present volume ; and as no expression exists in the 
English psychology which could convey this idea without 
involving misapprehension, I thought it far better to 
adopt a new term altogether, and to take one with a 
Latin root, which should express the notion now em- 
bodied in it with the least chance of misconception. The 
only other strictly un-English term I have employed is 
the word Ideation — a term, I believe, first coined by 
Mr. James Mill. This, however, I have used but rarely, 
and then in such a way as to point it out rather as 
a ] mere technicality than an approved philosophical ex- 
pression. 

Lastly, I must crave the indulgence of the reader for 
a book written in the comparatively few and often distant 
intervals of active life, and which I am well aware is 
deficient in much which only more time and more con- 
centrated labour could give it. Many there are who 
have experienced how great a relief it is to throw off 
their hands a labour which has been occupying their few 
spare moments for months, and even years ; and will be 



PREFACE. XI 

able to sympathize with my present determination to do 
so, even with the conviction that a more close elaboration 
of the subject might have issued in a book with fewer 
defects, and larger claims upon the attention of those to 
whom Mental Science is a study and a delight. 

J. D. MORELL. 

Bowdon, Nov. 1, 1861. 



CONTENTS 



INTRODUCTION. 

PAGE 

Chapter I. Preliminary Remarks on Method ... 1 

Chapter II. The Pacts of Psychology 14 



PART I. 

ON THE PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

Chapter I. Fundamental Distinctions of Vital Phenomena 27 
Chapter II. Consideration of the Point at which the Mental 

Phenomena diverge from the Purely Yital 36 
Chapter III. Preconscious Mental Activity . . .46 
Chapter TV. Primordial Mental Activity accompanied with 

Consciousness . . . . . .55 

Chapter V. The Doctrine of Individuality ... 64 



PART II. 

NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

Chapter I. On Sensation, properly so called . . 71 

Chapter II. On Perception . . . . . .81 

Chapter III. Indestructibility of our Perceptions . . 89 



xiv CONTENTS. 

PAGE 
Chapter IV. On the Nature of Residua . . . .94 

Chapter V. Law of Similarity 100 

Chapter VI. Classification of Simple Perceptions . .106 

Chapter VII. Perception in relation to the External World 114 
Chapter VIII. Perception of Space . . . . .123 

Chapter IX. Further Development of the Space-Percep- 
tions . . . • • • .129 
Chapter X. The Measurement of Space . . .135 
Chapter XL Perception Completed . . . .149 



PART III. 

NATUKE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

Chapter I. Relationship between Perception and Ideas 157 

Chapter II. Action and Reaction of Ideas . . .162 

Chapter III. Blending of Ideas . . . . .168 

Chapter IV. Association of Ideas . . . . .175 

Chapter V. Language in relation to the Development of 

our Ideas . . . . . .185 

Chapter VI. Reproduction of Ideas . . . . . 204 

Chapter VII, Understanding and Imagination . . .216 



PART IV. 

ON THE LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

Chapter I. Transition from the Region of Ideas into that 

of Logical Processes 226 

Chapter II. Of Simple Apprehension . . . .232 

Chapter III. Of Judgment 244 

Chapter IV. Of Ratiocination 253 

Chapter V. On the a priori Element in our Mental Pro- 
cesses generally . . . . .275 



CONTENTS. XV 



PART V. 



THE HUMAN REASON". 

PAGE 

Chapter I. Explanation of what we are to understand by 

the term Reason . . . . .288 

Chapter II. On Knowledge 295 

Chapter III. Classification of Knowledge from different 

points of view ...... 306 

Chapter IY. Limits of Human Knowledge . . .315 

Chapter V. Natural Belief and Personal Conviction . 323 



PART VI. 

DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

Chapter I. Preliminary Explanations . . . .340 

Chapter II. On the Motor Mechanism in relation to the 

Will 343 

Chapter III. Instinctive Actions . . . . .354 

Chapter IY. Development of Yolitional Power . . .362 

Chapter Y. The Freedom of the Will . . . .376 



PART VII. 

ON THE FEELINGS. 

Chapter I, Historical Notice of the Psychology of the 

Feelings 393 

Chapter II. Nature and Origin of the Feelings . .404 

Chapter III. On the Classification of the Feelings .' . 415 
Chapter IY. Feelings which are independent of any special 

Class of Ideas . . . . . .427 

Chapter Y. Feelings which are dependent upon special 

Classes of Ideas . . . . .435 

Chapter YI. On the Desires and Passions . . .446 
Chapter VII. On Character 460 



INTRODUCTION. 



CHAPTER I. 
PRELIMINARY REMARKS ON METHOD. 



In the present work I propose to treat of Mental 
Philosophy on the plan, and according to the principles, 
of a natural science. By natural science I mean the 
investigation of any series of facts or phenomena, for the 
purpose of discovering the more general laws by which 
they are regulated. Such investigation is carried on by 
what is usually termed the inductive method ; and, as this 
is the method we propose to follow, it will be well to 
state, in the outset, what are the leading principles on 
which it is now, by common consent, understood to be 
grounded ; and how far those principles are directly 
applicable to mental investigation. 

The main points which form, as it were, the guiding 
ideas of all scientific research, in the modern sense of 
that term, are the following • — 

1. Every real science (as opposed to those which are 
purely abstract and formal — such as logic and mathe- 
matics) must be based upon facts, which in some sense 
or other lie open to actual observation. 

2. Our induction of facts within the range of the 



9 



INTRODUCTION. 



science, of which we are treating, must be as large and as 
varied as possible. 

3. As the phenomena which lie open immediately to 
our observation are usually the results of a number of 
simpler agencies, they should be carefully analysed, for 
the purpose of discovering, as far as possible, the more 
elementary facts of which they are constituted. 

4. Hypotheses may be properly employed, while in- 
vestigation is going on, as necessary tentative efforts, to 
grasp the general law, to which the facts conform ; but 
we must ever be ready either to transform or abandon 
such hypotheses according as the subsequent teaching of 
the facts may require. 

5. The natural course of all science is a gradual pro- 
gression from one degree of generality to another, the less 
general result being included in the more general ; until 
we arrive at what are termed, " The Universal Laws of 
Nature." 

6. The different sciences are closely connected and 
affiliated; so that what is established in one becomes 
afterwards of essential consequence as data for the 
investigation of another. No real science, therefore, can 
stand simply on its own facts, isolated from all the other 
results of scientific research. 

7. The principal instrument by which we are enabled 
to analyse phenomena and discover the simpler and 
more universal agencies by which they are upheld is 
experiment. 

8. And lastly, where the possibility of experiment is 
precluded by the nature of the case, we must generally 
be guided in our investigations by the more uncertain 
light of analogy. 

These, which form the leading principles of inductive 
research, have been so frequently illustrated, and are 
now so universally accepted, that they do not require 



PRELIMINARY REMARKS ON METHOD. 3 

any further discussion at present. What we have now 
to determine is, whether they apply to mental philosophy 
as surely and as completely as they do to the natural 
sciences. 

And first of all, with regard to the facts on which 
Mental Philosophy is based, it must be admitted that 
they are not observed exactly in the same way as are 
those of natural science. The latter, for the most part, 
appeal directly to our senses ; while the former elude the 
eye of sense, and can only be known by inward observa- 
tion. This does not make any difference, however, as 
to the application of the general principle — that mental 
as well as natural science must have a basis of fact on 
which to rest ; for no one can rationally refuse to admit 
that our instincts, propensities, sensations, perceptions, 
mental reproductions, associations, passions, emotions, 
reasonings, and so forth, form as veritable a body of 
actual phenomena, capable of being observed and ex- 
pressed, as are the outward facts with which any other 
conceivable science is conversant. The mere circum- 
stance of the one being observed by the outward senses, 
and the other by the inward consciousness, does not at 
all alter the scientific aspect of the question in relation 
to method. In the one case, as in the other, we have a 
body of facts which can be known and expressed ; — facts, 
too, which are not arbitrary, but which follow definite 
laws in regard to their production and sequence. To 
determine the sequences and laws of mental pheno- 
mena is the problem of mental science, just as it is the 
aim of the natural sciences to determine the laws and 
sequences of nature. In whatever way, therefore, the 
facts may be observed, they exist equally in the science 
of mind as in that of matter, and form the starting point 
from which all scientific observation must set out. 

Secondly. The range of our induction in the case of 

b 2 



4 INTRODUCTION. 

mental as well as natural science has to be as broad as 
possible. Most systems of mental philosophy hitherto 
constructed have failed in this particular. Instead of 
taking the science of mind as embracing the whole range 
of human phenomena, whether within or without the 
sphere of consciousness, they have confined their 
researches to a comparatively limited region of observa- 
tion, and thus rendered it almost impossible to arrive at 
any highly generalised results. It is by taking examples 
as widely as possible separated from each other, and 
then tracing out what is common to them all, that we 
are enabled most readily to detect the more general and 
fundamental facts of every science. Eminently is this 
the case with mental philosophy. It is, in truth, only 
since the activity of the mind has been recognised as one 
particular province of the vital energies, and the facts of 
life and consciousness have been brought into correlation 
with each other, that any well-grounded hopes of 
extending and developing the compass of mental philo- 
sophy have been seriously entertained. In this respect, 
therefore, as in that before stated, the general principles 
of induction have shown themselves strictly applicable to 
mental researches. 

Thirdly. With regard to the analysis of complex 
phenomena, we may easily show that this is one of the 
main points always to be aimed at by the psychologist ; 
and that it is fully as essential to mental as it is to all 
natural science. In nature we very rarely meet with 
simple elements and primary phenomena. Almost 
everything that appeals to our observation is a complex 
result ; and, as has often enough been shown, the main 
object of scientific research is to separate these 
results, so as to discover the simpler agencies by which 
they are brought about. But mental phenomena, as 
they usually present themselves, are fully as complex as 



PRELIMINARY REMARKS ON METHOD. 

natural. Acts of memory, of judgment, of abstraction 
and generalisation, emotional states, and determinations 
of the will, are all highly complex in their nature. We 
cannot take a single idea, however familiar it may be, 
and investigate the history of its origin and growth, 
without finding that a great number of simpler mental 
operations have been engaged in its rise and develop- 
ment. In fact, the main purport of all true psychology 
is to trace back our ordinary mental states to their 
origin ; to discover the few simple processes from which 
they proceed ; and to follow the steps by which these 
simple processes have grown up into all the variety and 
richness of our inner life. Mental analysis occupies, 
therefore, fully as large a place in the science of mind as 
the analysis of ordinary phenomena occupies in the 
science of nature. In this respect the inductive method 
is equally applicable to both. 

Fourthly. In respect to the use of hypotheses, the very 
obscurity which still hangs over a large portion of the 
facts of mind, and the immaturity of mental science 
generally, both render the employment of hypotheses, at 
least for the present, quite indispensable. Even the 
most probable theories which modern psychologists have 
propounded respecting the origin of our ideas, and the 
relationship existing between the nervous system and 
the powers of mental manifestation, can only be regarded 
at present as hypothetical. And yet without such hypo- 
theses to work with, it seems impossible to marshal the 
facts together, to investigate their mutual relations, and 
work onwards towards the discovery of general laws. 
All we have to do is to employ them sparingly — not to 
stand by them blindly— and always to be ready to bring 
them anew to the test of experience, whether it lead to 
correction or perchance to total abandonment. 

Fifthly. Psychological science involves a regular pro- 



6 INTRODUCTION. 

gress from the less to the more general, exactly as is the 
case (according to the best authorities) in all physical 
science. In contemplating human nature as a whole, 
we meet with a vast number of facts which at once 
excite our attention. Thus we have hourly presented to 
us the phenomena of physical motion and of nervous 
sensibility, and after these the varied facts of instinct, 
emotion, volition, intelligence, and so on ; all of which, 
as we see them, are highly complex, and, for that very 
reason, occupy in each instance as facts a very low 
degree of generality. 

As the process of investigation goes on, these particular 
and highly complex phenomena are compared and 
analysed. By degrees we begin to find certain points 
of resemblance which run through them ; and this leads 
us again to separate the simpler elements which they 
contain, and to view them apart, until we are at length 
enabled to grasp some of the more general laws of 
mental activity. 

Thus it is, e.g.) that we arrive at the law of redinte- 
gration, or the reproduction in consciousness of all our 
previous mental impressions. In the same way we find, 
that the law by which similar impressions blend together 
into more complex facts of mind is one which runs more 
or less throughout the whole of our mental activity. In 
fact, all the more general laws of our mental constitution 
(the statement of which we cannot at present anticipate) 
are gradually brought to light exactly in this same way ; 
namely, by analysing the immediate and the particular, 
and rising step by step to the more primitive, and for 
that reason the more general, elements of our mental 
life. It is only by pursuing this process onwards and 
upwards that we shall ever be enabled to bring the 
entire activity of human nature under the operation of 
i few grand and universal laws. 



PRELIMINARY REMARKS ON METHOD. 7 

Sixthly. In pursuing the course above pointed out, it 
will not do to isolate mental science, any more than we 
can isolate any other, from the relationship which it bears 
to all the previous and comparatively simpler branches of 
inductive investigation. 

The distinction between mind and matter has often 
been supposed to be so fundamental and thorough- 
going, that no real connexion could exist between the 
two series of facts ; and that, as a consequence of this, no 
dependency could be traced between mental and physical 
science. This delusion has now, however, been fully 
dissipated. The deeper researches into the physiology of 
the brain and nervous system, with which recent times 
have been characterized, have rendered it quite certain 
that the philosophy of the human mind has the closest 
points of contact with the science of all organized and 
living nature. The analogies between them, indeed, are 
so great, and the phenomena of mind are known to be so 
dependent on physical conditions, that it would now be 
as vain to expect to make any real and substantial pro- 
gress in psychology apart from physiology as it would be 
to investigate structural botany without a previous know- 
ledge of chemistry. Mind is the crown and summit of 
nature, and cannot be reached as a valid branch of 
scientific research except through the results and teach- 
ings of all the lower sciences. The whole of our inves- 
tigations will tend to show that the science of mind, 
instead of standing alone, is now prepared really to take 
its place in the co-ordination of the sciences at large, 
and only in this way can find a solid foundation on which 
its whole superstructure may rest. 

With regard to the two last points we have laid down 
as characterizing the principles of induction — namely, the 
employment of experiment and analogy — the only remark 
we have to make here is, that in mental science the 



8 INTRODUCTION. 

application of experiment is comparatively rare and diffi- 
cult ; and that, as a consequence of this, we have to make 
the greater use of analogy. In the lower regions of con- 
scious life, — in determining, for example, the action of the 
nervous system under peculiar circumstances, — in watch- 
ing the force of the instincts, — in comprehending the 
mental peculiarities of infancy, insanity, &c, — we are 
sometimes able to make experiments successfully ; but, 
beyond this extent, the power of experimenting almost 
wholly ceases. In purely mental operations we are guided 
mainly by observation and analogy ; and must, for this 
reason, proceed with the greater caution and hesitancy in 
laying down general principles, or enunciating general 
laws. All I wish here to enforce is, that the comparative 
want of the power of experimenting does not raise any 
real barrier between mental and physical science in rela- 
tion to method. In all physical science analogy is a 
legitimate instrument to employ ; and the more or less 
sparing use of it must be determined, throughout all 
the walks of science alike, by the nature of the case, and 
the difficulty which attends the more safe and beaten 
path of experiment. The precise mode in which analogy 
is employed to' throw light upon the laws of mental 
action need not be at present explained; it will be abun- 
dantly illustrated in our subsequent investigations. We 
conclude, then, generally, that, in every essential point of 
view, psychology may be treated as an inductive science. 

Before closing these preliminary remarks on method, 
it will be useful briefly to consider how far the actual 
attempts which have been hitherto made to found a valid 
science of mind have usually deviated from the pathway 
above pointed out. 

I. Many of the past systems of mental philosophy 
have been conducted entirely on the speculative method. 
Wherever investigators have begun by laying down a 



PRELIM [NARY REMARKS ON METHOD. 9 

general conception of mind, and have then proceeded to 
explain all mental phenomena out of this fundamental 
idea, we have an example of what may be termed a 
purely speculative psychology. Examples of this we 
see, more or less, in Descartes, in Spinoza, in Wolff, 
and, more recently, in Hegel, and some other German 
metaphysicians. No doubt a sagacious mind may often 
arrive at valuable conclusions in this speculative way, 
just as some of the more ancient natural philosophers 
grasped many important truths, as it were, per saltum, 
without toiling up the rugged path of inductive demon- 
stration, from one degree of generality to another. More- 
over, it is almost inevitable, from the nature of the case, 
that this speculative mode of procedure should continue 
longer in connexion with mental than with physical 
science. The reason of this is obvious. All science is 
made up of two primary elements, viz., facts and concep- 
tions. Thus the fall of a stone to the earth is a fact 
palpable to the senses ; the law of gravitation is a co?icep- 
tion, by which this fact, and a multitude of others, is 
accounted for and explained. Now, in physical science, 
we can always make a clear separation between the facts 
and the conceptions on which any branch of investiga- 
tion is based ; inasmuch as the former appeal to the 
senses, while the latter do not. But, in mental science, 
both the facts and the conceptions are to a large extent 
equally internal phenomena ; and it is by no means so 
easy to separate the real and indubitable facts of mind 
from the acquired notion we entertain respecting them. 
How many are there at this moment who would regard 
the existence of a number of separate faculties as an 
undoubted fact of mind; and yet, perhaps, there is 
hardly a single conception which has stood so much in 
the path of a true mental science as this. The difficulty 
which lies in the way of distinguishing between mental 



10 INTRODUCTION. 

facts and mental theories has been one of the main 
reasons why the science of mind has failed to assume 
hitherto its purely inductive form, and is alone fully suffi- 
cient to account for much of the fruitlessness which has 
attended its career. We should not forget that phy- 
sical science was equally fruitless so long as it laboured 
under the same difficulty. 

II. Most systems of mental philosophy, which are 
not fundamentally of a speculative character, have still 
been greatly biassed by preconceived notions, essentially 
affecting their results. For example : firstly, it has not been 
uncommon in this country for writers on mental philo- 
sophy to start with the idea that the mind and body are 
two wholly distinct existences, united for a period, but 
capable of carrying on most of their functions quite inde- 
pendently of each other. This conception of the case is 
not only purely gratuitous, but strongly contradicted by 
a mass of facts, which militate very directly against it. 
Whether the conception be found eventually true or not, 
it is not for us now to decide, but it must, at all events, 
not be laid down a priori, as an axiom of mental science, 
or be allowed to stand in the way, as it has done, of 
unbiassed inductive research. 

| Secondly, writers of another class have gone just to the 
opposite extreme, denying the existence of mind alto- 
gether, except as a direct result of certain bodily condi- 
tions, and speaking of the brain as being an organ to 
secrete thought, precisely as the liver is an organ for 
secreting bile. Here we have another example of a pre- 
conceived and, in this instance, materialistic hypothesis, 
which, in its turn, is as obstructive to true scientific research 
as is the hypothesis of dualism we have before noted. 

Again, thirdly, the great mass of our philosophical 
writers contemplate mind as strictly co-extensive with 
consciousness, and take no account of what are now 



PRELIMINARY REMARKS ON METHOD. 11 

termed the pre-conscious or latent mental activities. In 
so doing, a very important and suggestive series of 
mental facts is kept wholly out of view ; the operations 
of mind in its most primitive and instinctive form are 
almost entirely lost sight of; and those very phenomena, 
which are of all others the most illustrative of mental 
laws, are left out of account in our induction of instances. 
The importance of taking these pre-conscious states into 
account will be made more apparent as we proceed. 

Fourthly. We may refer here once more to the fixed 
notion with which so many writers on mental philosophy 
have started, that there is a certain number of separate, 
peculiar, and independent mental faculties to be dis- 
covered ; — a notion which, more than almost any others, 
has stood in the way of a purely inductive treatment of 
mental phenomena. To dispossess ourselves of this 
deeply-grounded prejudice, and enable ourselves to view 
all mental phenomena as alike evolved from the opera- 
tion of general laws, is one of the first conditions we 
have to fulfil, before we can hope to make any fruitful 
advancement in psychology as an inductive science. Had 
the different preconceived notions we have simply indi- 
cated been employed merely as hypotheses, to aid the 
process of investigation, instead of axioms to which all 
observed facts must conform, there would have been 
nothing strictly unscientific in their admission ; but, so 
long as they lie in the form of obstructive prejudices at 
the threshold of all philosophical research, they cannot 
fail to retard the progress of discovery, and justify the 
reproach of fruitlessness which has been so often laid to 
the charge of mental investigations. 

III. Mental philosophy has not had to suffer merely 
from the tendency to admit speculative ideas ; it has also 
had to suffer from the very opposite cause, namely, from 
a too exclusive attention to facts, and the consequent 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

\ 

treatment of the whole science of mind as though it were 
merely a branch of natural history. 

The difference between a mere natural history or 
classification of phenomena, and a truly scientific or 
analytic treatment of them, is as easily seen in connexion 
with any other of the sciences, as it is in mental science 
itself. 

Thus botany, regarded as a natural history, simply 
observes, collects, describes, and classifies. Taking the 
vegetable world as the subject-matter of investigation, it 
exhibits to our view all the different hinds of vegetable 
growth, decides on some definite principle of effecting a 
scientific arrangement, and then, by due observation, 
places all the known plants under their proper class and 
order. Very different from this, however, is structural 
botany, viewed as a science, standing in due co-ordina- 
tion with chemistry and physiology. Here the primary 
object is not classification, but analysis. The chemical 
elements of the plant, the process of its development, 
its nutrition, growth, respiration, reproduction, together 
with its manifold analogies with the rest of the universe, 
are here consecutively shown. This gained, the plant is 
analyzed as well as classified ; we have a scientific com- 
prehension of it, and we know its physiology and mode 
of development, as well as its place in a mere artificial 
arrangement. 

Precisely similar to this is the difference between a 
natural history of mental phenomena and a philosophical 
analysis of the human mind. While the one only 
observes and classifies phenomena, the other traces 
them to their elementary forms, shows the links of con- 
nexion between the more simple and the more complex 
states, — elucidates in this way the origin and growth of 
our ideas, shows the physiology of thought and feeling, 
follows the development of mind, in brief, through all its 



PRELIMINARY REMARKS ON METHOD. 13 

different stages, and thus arrives at length at the uni- 
versal laics of mental operation. 

A large amount of the mental philosophy which has 
been current both in England and Scotland since the 
time of Reid has been simply of the character of a 
Natural History. A great number of useful observations 
have doubtless been made and recorded, but the whole 
has amounted to a preparation for a philosophy rather 
than a philosophy itself. Besides a mere inventory of 
facts, classified under their respective heads, we want 
such an analysis of those facts as shall discover the laws 
of mental activity, and enable us to trace its develop- 
ment from the first dawn of consciousness up to its full 
maturity. 

We have now laid down, I trust with sufficient 
clearness, what the problem is which we propose to 
investigate, and what the method by which we shall 
endeavour to solve it. We have to investigate man as a 
living, instinctive, active, feeling, a"hd thinking being. 
In doing this, we have to take in the whole range 
of facts presented to us by human nature, and to dis- 
cover, if possible, the laws by which these facts are 
regulated. With regard to the method, we have to lay 
aside all preconceived ideas in relation to the nature and 
attributes of mind, and proceed steadily from the known 
to the unknown by that same inductive process which 
has proved so abundantly fruitful in relation to physical 
science. If we employ an hypothesis now and then for 
the sake of explanation, we shall do so subject to the 
teaching of the facts themselves, and be ready to modify 
it according as the subsequent teaching of those facts 
may demand. If, in the end, we are unable to reach 
all the conclusions we aim at, we may still hope to assist 
in clearing the ground and widening the pathway for 
future investigation. 



14 INTRODUCTION. 



CHAPTER II. 
THE FACTS OF PSYCHOLOGY. 

Psychology, as we have said, rests upon a basis oifact. 
Before we proceed further, therefore, it will be necessary 
for us to take a general view of the field of observation 
within which these facts lie, and to point out the dif- 
ferent sources from which they are derived. 

Our classification of them will be fourfold. 

I. First and foremost come those facts which every 
man possesses within himself — facts which belong to 
him as a man, and which form the universal human 
element of his constitution. Every individual man 
embodies in himself the entire essence of humanity, and, 
therefore, must constitute a field of observation co- 
extensive with the immediate sphere of mental philo- 
sophy — one in which all the ordinary phenomena of 
mental manifestation may be conveniently studied. 

But here we are met with a difficulty at the outset — 
the difficulty, namely, of determining which are the precise 
facts that psychology has to take account of, and which 
are not. Regarding man as a whole, we see, at the first 
glance, two sets of functions constantly going forward, 
viz., physical functions, or those relating to life, and mental 
functions, or those relating to consciousness. The science 
which investigates the former we term physiology, that 
which investigates the latter we term psychology. Yet, 
distinct as these two series of phenomena seem to be at 
first sight, on closer inspection they draw nearer and 
nearer together, until we find it wholly impossible to trace 
a very clearly defined line of separation between them. 



THE FACTS OF PSYCHOLOGY. 15 

Every bodily function can, under certain circum- 
stances, become converted into a fact of consciousness. 
Thus, the derangement of any bodily organ will at once 
produce a feeling of unpleasantness — i. e., will translate 
itself from a physical into a mental fact ; the laceration 
of a nerve is a bodily injury, but is instantly converted 
into conscious suffering; we may be conscious, under 
certain circumstances, of the beating of the heart and 
the play of the lungs ; nay, even the whole bodily state 
of the moment produces a corresponding mental condi- 
tion, which we term ccencesthesis, or common sensi- 
bility. Conversely, our mental conditions easily impress 
themselves on the body. Thus, pain produces contor- 
tion ; anger, paleness ; shame, blushing ; and a number 
of the ordinary physical functions are either stimulated 
or retarded, aided or deranged by purely mental influ- 
ences. The mere thinking of certain fluids, such as 
lemon-juice, will promote the formation of saliva • anger 
generates gall ; a vitiated atmosphere during sleep will 
affect the lungs, then the blood, and lastly the mind, 
producing restless and frightful dreams. 

So far, again, as we have any insight into the working 
of the nervous system, the connexion between its different 
states of exaltation or depression and corresponding states 
of mind is as close as it is possible to imagine ; and if we 
could look into the interior of the brain, and watch its 
molecular changes, we should probably find that some 
peculiar alteration of the tissue takes place corresponding 
with every thought and volition which we experience. 

In every instance above-mentioned, we might, of 
course, separate the facts of the case into two series 
of phenomena — the external and visible changes on the 
one side, and the internal or conscious experiences on the 
other ; assigning the one series to the physiologist, and 
the other to the psychologist for investigation. But who 



16 INTRODUCTION. 

would not feel that this mode of procedure is wholly 
artificial, and that, if we would investigate the facts of 
human nature successfully, we must investigate them, 
not in their separation, but in all their entireness ? 

In addition, however, to the popular view which 
we have just given of the close connexion subsisting be- 
tween mind and body, physiology has succeeded in 
obtaining a far more accurate and precise conception of 
the interworking of the mental and bodily forces within 
the constitution of the individual man. There exists in 
connexion with our physical constitution an unseen 
power which is termed vital force. This power, though 
unseen, we know well by its effects. When it is strong 
within us, then life is abundant, and health is vigorous. 
Injury and disease yield at once to its influence. It gives 
vigour to the limbs, lightness to the spirits, energy 
to the frame. It supplies the " vis medicatrix " of the 
physician, and the overflowing " animal spirits " of the 
youth ; while the want of it is seen in languor, depres- 
sion, incapability of rallying from sickness or suffering, 
and finally in decline and death. It is this same vital 
force, again, which carries on the process of cell-formation 
in the structure of the human frame, which produces all 
the normal changes in its tissues, pervades the blood in 
its circulation through the body, and aids the necessary 
processes of nutrition, absorption, and assimilation. 
What this vital force consists of — whether it be a che- 
mical agency, or magnetic agency, or spiritual agency, or 
something quite distinct from all the physical or mental 
forces, and peculiar to organized living bodies, we do not 
presume to determine. Whatever be its nature, it has a 
real existence, and originates the actual phenomena 
which we have just pointed out ; inasmuch as none, 
assuredly, of these marvellous effects could be produced 
without a real and sufficient cause. 



THE FACTS OF PSYCHOLOGY. 17 

But there is another force, in form distinct from the 
vital, which also plays its part in the animal economy, 
and this is nerve-force. It is a fact well ascertained, that 
the ganglionic masses of the nervous system have the 
capacity of originating a certain nervous-power, which 
manifests itself through a great variety of phenomena. 
All the modes of sensation are produced by nerve-force, 
excited mostly by means of external stimuli at the ex- 
tremities. And, in like manner, certain sensational 
ganglia and the grey matter of the spinal chord develop 
another distinct form of nervous energy, which imparts 
motion to the whole muscular system. Thus, then, it is 
what we term nerve-force which, on the one hand, 
imparts all the capacity we possess of receiving impres- 
sions from the outward world through the senses, and, 
on the other hand, enables us to react upon the external 
world by means of motor power applied to the muscular 
system. In a word, all sensation and all motion, 
whether reflex, or volitional, is rendered possible only by 
means of this nervous energy. 

But there is also a third force, different in many 
respects from the other two, and that is, the force 
of mind, which includes will. Intellectual and volitional 
energy play their ow r n especial part in the human 
economy, and originate a series of facts different in 
almost every respect from those connected either with 
the vital or the nervous system. The distinctive pro- 
perty of consciousness here first comes into operation, 
and separates the results of mind-force by a sufficiently 
broad line of demarcation from the peculiar results 
of the other two agencies. 

Now, these three forces (vital-force, nerve-force, and 
mind-force) stand in the closest correlation to each other. 
Modern investigations in natural science have brought 
clearly to light the truth, that the varied physical forces 



18 INTRODUCTION. 

of the universe (such as gravitation, mechanical power, 
heat, light, electricity, magnetism, &c.) may, with very 
few exceptions, be transformed into each other. Thus, 
heat applied at one end of a steam-engine goes off in the 
form of motive power at the other. Conversely, mecha- 
nical power, if suddenly arrested by strong friction, 
instantly generates heat. No particle of force, in fact, 
which the universe contains is ever lost, any more than 
a single particle of matter ; it only translates itself from 
one form of activity into another. 

Physiology, then, applying this doctrine of the trans- 
formation of forces to the different powers connected 
with the human organism, has demonstrated, without 
the least shadow of a doubt, that a similar correlation 
exists between vital energy, nervous energy, and mental 
energy. Thus, it is the vital energy in the blood which 
supplies the pabulum to the nervous system. We have 
all of us, for example, experienced the depression of 
nervous energy which ensues when the vital power 
is lowered through exhaustion or disease, and the revival 
of it when the physical powers are refreshed and re- 
stored. In the same manner, again, as vital supplies 
nervous power, so, also, does nervous energy excite 
mental activity. For all mental activity is dependent 
organically upon the brain ; and it is by the changes 
which take place in the tissues of this great central 
organ that mind-force is excited and maintained. Thus 
we may trace the transformation of the organic forces 
upwards from vital to nervous, and from nervous to 
mental action ; the expenditure of the one supplying 
new vigour and vitality to the other. 

Conversely, we may trace the same process of trans- 
formation downwards. When the will first comes into 
operation it acts downwards upon the nervous centres, 
and gives rise to motive power ; and, when the intellect 



THE FACTS OF PSYCHOLOGY. 19 

is strongly taxed, not only do we experience a fatigue 
arising from the expenditure of nerve-power coincident 
with it, but a disintegration of the nervous tissues is 
probably indicated by the redundant amount of alkaline 
phosphates in the urine, so often ensuing upon it. We 
need only mention further the well-known influence 
which is exerted by the nervous system upon all the 
vital functions, and the power which a greater or less 
degree of nervous force has to heighten or to depress 
the whole tone of bodily health ; and the circle is com- 
pleted, the connexion of the three agencies being deter- 
mined upwards and downwards through the whole series. 
Accordingly, we may regard the entire system of corre- 
lations between the three kinds of forces as completely 
established by the most varied and well-ascertained 
series of observable facts.* 

Without the interworking of these forces, indeed, our 
whole nature would be disjointed. The vital-force builds 
up and maintains the machinery of the physical frame ; 
the nerve-force supplies that machinery with sensitive 
and motor power, connecting it with all the influences of 
the external world ; while, thirdly, the mind-force gives 
intelligent direction to our activity, and enables us at 
once to grasp and carry out the purposes for which the 
entire complex of our nature was designed. 

This whole doctrine of the correlation of the three 
sets of forces, of which we are the subjects, shows us 
clearly how impossible it is to isolate mental facts from 
all those of the nervous and vital system, with which 
they are so closely connected. It points rather to the 
deeper truth that there must be at the root of them all a 
out of which they alike spring. This unity, 



* To find these facts more fully stated and established, see 
"Carpenter's Human Physiology," fourth edition, pp. 352 — 354 
and 797—800. 

2 



20 INTRODUCTION. 

indeed, becomes sufficiently apparent if we look at them 
all three in relation to final causes. Purpose and design 
is manifest in them all, though not exactly in the same 
manner. The vital power builds up the human frame 
according to a certain definite type ; the nerve-force 
prompts us to all those instinctive movements which are 
necessary for the preservation and well-being of the 
frame when formed ; and the mind-force brings the 
purposes of life into the light of consciousness, and 
teaches us to pursue them with an intelligent adaptation 
of means to the end. If we take the word soul to 
include the whole teleological tendencies inherent in our 
nature, then it must include in it all these three different 
agencies, as being all pervaded with design, and intelli- 
gent adaptation to the ends and purposes of our being. 
While, therefore, psychology looks primarily and chiefly 
at the facts of consciousness, it must also take into 
account the correlative phenomena of nervous and vital 
activity. In truth, it is in these lower forms of life that 
we can best of all study the universal laws of our nature. 
The light of consciousness, while it brings the mental 
processes themselves to our view, throws entirely into the 
shade the hidden principles by which those processes are 
carried on. On the other hand, the analogy which 
subsists between all the teleological operations of our 
nature may, in the end, enable us to read the higher 
laws of mind in the lower and more palpable laws of 
vital and nervous action. We shall, therefore, in all 
probability, be indebted eventually to physiology for the 
data by which the universal principles of mental activity 
can be successfully investigated. 

II. The second class of facts to which psychology can 
have recourse with advantage are those of mental 
pathology; or, as we may term them, the abnormal 
phenomena of the human mind. Just as physiology is 



THE FACTS OF PSYCHOLOGY. 21 

often indebted to disease for illustrating what should be 
the proper functions of the vital organs, so, also, can 
psychology learn important lessons from perverted or 
diseased mental action. Many truths respecting the 
various parts of the nervous system, and their separate 
functions, have been either brought to light or finally 
established by means of diseases, mutilations, or natural 
imperfections in this part of our animal economy. Thus 
we find that, when the nerves of motion are paralyzed, 
those of sensation often remain entire, and vice versa ; 
that reflex action will continue unimpaired when con- 
sciousness is entirely destroyed ; that undue excitement 
of the nerves will produce ghost-seeing, and other col- 
lateral phenomena; that the loss of one or more of the 
senses affects the regular growth of our ideas, and that 
we may watch the process by which the want of any one 
of the natural organs of communication with the external 
world is supplied by the increased intensity and extra- 
ordinary development of the rest ; all which species of 
facts become highly instructive in relation to the study 
of neurology, and of mental development generally. 

Insanity, again, frequently throws light upon the play 
of the mental faculties, inasmuch as it gives real ex- 
amples of cases in which one set of functions is per- 
verted, while others are wholly unaffected, and thus 
enables us to judge of the relative dependence or inde- 
pendence of the one upon the other. It is hardly neces- 
sary to add how suggestive actual cerebral diseases often 
are, in relation to the function of different portions of 
the brain, and its ganglionic accompaniments. Lastly, 
all those abnormal phenomena which are grouped to- 
gether under the names somnambulism, electro-biology, 
clairvoyance, and mesmeric states, generally give us a 
remarkable insight into the instinctive operations of the 
nervous system, and the power which ideas exert over 



22 INTRODUCTION. 

the physical functions of the body. Abnormal though 
they be, they are often highly suggestive of very im- 
portant truths in connexion with that dim and almost 
unknown region which lies between the conscious and 
unconscious life of man. 

III. A third class of facts, bearing closely upon many 
points of mental science, are those which we may term 
the facts of comparative psychology. 

Since the operations of the mind have been so closely 
connected with the development of the nervous system, 
it is manifest, at first sight, how much instruction 
might be naturally sought for by comparing the nervous 
system of different classes of animals with their mental 
manifestations. Every kind of animal is found to have 
a nervous system, apparently corresponding with its 
particular point of development in the scale of intelli- 
gence. The lower classes of animals, including nearly 
all the invertebrate, have some sort of nervous apparatus, 
without any cerebrum at all, properly so called, being 
visible. Those insects, e.g., which show great rapidity 
of motion, or any remarkable instincts, such as the bee, 
the fly, or the spider, possess a large development of the 
sensory ganglia, without any of those cerebral organs 
which imply thought or volition. Observation on the 
habits of such animals will often enable us to distinguish 
in man what is merely automatic and instinctive, from 
those actions which are performed with intelligence and 
volition. The study of the different orders of vertebrata 
becomes still more instructive, inasmuch as each animal 
of this class has some distinct character of its own which 
can be compared with the peculiar structure of its 
cerebrum, and which, then, by careful analysis, will 
furnish an analogy by which we may gain some insight 
into the grounds and causes of human character. In 
fine, as instinct is common to man and the brute creation, 



THE FACTS OF PSYCHOLOGY. 23 

and as we are able to study it in the latter with far greater 
minuteness than in the former, the rise of comparative 
psychology has become almost indispensable as a means 
of gaining a thorough and practical knowledge of this 
part of our constitution. And no small portion of our 
success in the whole range of psychological investigation 
depends, at last, upon a due appreciation of the real 
nature of instinctive action. 

IV. There is yet one other class of facts of great 
importance to the psychologist, and those are the results 
of mind, as seen in language, manners, beliefs, and 
human history generally. 

Of all these sources of knowledge, language is that 
which gives us the most direct insight into the inner 
laws of thought. Were language a mere artificial system 
of signs, its teaching, as to the universal nature of 
thought, would be of little value. But this is far from 
being the case. Language is natural to man; it origi- 
nates from some of his most dominant instincts ; it 
clears and formul arises his ideas, as well as enables him 
to communicate them ; it has about it, therefore, all the 
characteristics of a perfectly spontaneous and uncon- 
strained reflection of our inner intellectual nature. Even 
if an individual language be marked, as it undoubtedly 
is, by peculiarities of country and race, yet that which 
we find common to all languages must, at any rate, give 
us the reflex of properties common to all human think- 
ing. Hence, among the Greeks, \oyos stood both for 
reason and discourse; and the very term logic points 
to the significant fact, that it is through words that we 
must penetrate to a science of the laws of thought. 

With regard to the other fields of observation above 
enumerated, it is true that they show us the action of 
mind only at second hand. At the same time they give 
us valuable examples of the working of the human 
faculties and feelings, under a variety of circumstances, 



24 INTRODUCTION. 

such as never falls to the lot of any one individual. It 
is in the lives of our fellow- creatures that we can study 
the influences of age, habit, occupation, climate, civili- 
zation, religion, temperament, &c, upon human nature 
generally ; and, conversely, it must be mainly by such 
observations that Ave are enabled to separate what is 
essential to the human constitution from all that is 
aclscititious and acquired. 

Finally, it is only on the page of human life and 
history that we can see examples of the human faculties 
in their highest pitch of intensity. To comprehend 
fully the powers and energies of the human mind we must 
look beyond the ordinary level of capacity which we see 
daily around us, and study those exceptional cases which 
a wider observation alone can give us. Great calculators, 
great orators, great critics, great poets, great artists, 
great musicians, all great and extraordinary men, in a 
word, enable us to see some particular side of mental 
impulse or activity, in magnified, and, therefore, highly 
legible proportions. It is on the data which such 
enlarged observation affords that we must, in the end, 
ground our fundamental view of mind, as being, in 
each case, an independent existence, which is neither an 
embodiment of the universal reason nor a creature of 
outward circumstances, but a pure original individuality, 
which, though developed by external influences, retains 
to the last the stamp with which it came first from the 
hands of the Creator. 

Taking, then, into consideration all the sources of 
mental observation which lie before us, we shall hardly 
be inclined to complain of the paucity of facts to which 
we can appeal. Our greatest embarrassment arises from 
their multiplicity, which is so vast and varied that we 
can only hope, as yet, to make a commencement in the 
work of reducing them to a scientific order, and sub- 
jecting them to a sound and exhaustive analysis. 



PART I. 

ON THE PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF 
MENTAL ACTIVITY. 



CHAPTER I. 

FUNDAMENTAL DISTINCTIONS OF YITAL 
PHENOMENA. 



We have already explained the method to be pursued in 
the following treatise, and taken a general survey of the 
field of observation within which the facts lie. These 
facts might be treated either analytically or synthetically. 
In the former case we should take the phenomena of the 
human mind — the reason, the judgment, the imagination, 
the emotions, the will, &c. — in all their completeness, 
and separate them step by step into the more elementary 
processes of which they consist, until we arrive at the 
first and most primitive elements of mental life. In the 
latter case we should begin with the primitive elements, 
and show how they develop step by step into all the 
richness of the expanded faculties. Did we know nothing 
of the subject beforehand, the analytic method would be 
the only one we could possibly pursue. But starting as 
we now do, with the results of previous analysis in our 
hands, there are many advantages in proceeding synthe- 
tically. We have, for example, fewer elements to start 
with, consequently, are not so confused by the imme- 
diate multiplicity of phenomena \ and we have the still 
greater advantage of following up the facts of our mental 
life in the natural order of their growth and develop- 
ment. 

Taking, then, the synthetic method as that best 
adapted for our purpose, we must, in order to begin 



28 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

with the elements, go down first of all to the very 
primary phenomena of life, and attempt to show the 
boundary line which separates the world of dead, unorga- 
nized matter from the world of life and organization. 
We have already pointed out the impossibility of draw- 
ing any exact limit between the vital and the spiritual 
facts of our nature. Vital-force, nerve-force, and mind- 
force are all correlated, and all unite in the one property 
of bearing upon them the common mark of design or 
purpose. It is the vital power, however, which appears 
first, in the history of the individual ; and it is out of 
this, as the germ, that all mental phenomena are evolved. 
We are referring, of course, now, simply to the apparent 
order of events, without intending to convey any theory 
as to the actual priority of mind or organization. Taking 
this order as representing the facts to be dealt with, we 
have presented to us, first, a being manifesting vital pro- 
perties only ; next to this we see the nerve-force appear- 
ing in the double phenomena of sensation and motion ; 
and then, lastly, out of these we see consciousness and 
intelligence gradually evolved. 

To find, therefore, the most elementary facts of mind, 
we must consider what is the common and universal 
characteristic of life in its widest acceptation. By doing 
so, we shall be, in fact, isolating from the whole universe 
of phenomena around us something which remains 
throughout fundamentally distinctive of every individual, 
of which the term life in any sense whatever ca*i be pre- 
dicated; having done this, we may consider that we 
have laid the first stone in our superstructure, and 
virtually pointed out the most universal, primitive, and 
essential element of mind. 

Many have attempted to give a definition of life. This 
it is not our purpose to do at present, as any definition 
we might adopt would unavoidably convey with it some 



FUNDAMENTAL DISTINCTIONS OF VITAL PHENOMENA. 29 

theoretical opinion on the question. We shall content 
ourselves, for the moment, with merely looking at the 
facts of the case ; and we shall then see what general law 
is involved in them. 

1. The first fact, then, to which we refer, as common 
to all animated beings, is the manifest tendency to indi- 
vidualization. Looking at the material universe as a 
whole, we find a vast variety of substances ; some, as far 
as we know, elementary, and others compound. None of 
these unorganized masses, however, form a unity, in 
which each part is subservient to the whole. Every stone 
we tread on is a portion of something else ; every drop 
of water is a part of the ocean ; every mountain is but a 
fraction of the earth's crust. Here, then, are no indi- 
vidualities, but simply fragments. The moment, how- 
ever, that organization commences, we trace at once a 
tendency to individualization. This is seen, though 
imperfectly, in the vegetable world. The seed is, in a 
certain sense, a unity, and the plant is a unity. The 
unity of the plant, however, is not persistent and com- 
plete, inasmuch as the whole essence of the plant appears 
to exist in every part. Cut off a small portion from it, 
and it will produce a new plant, and a new individual. 
The tendency to individualization only becomes perfect 
in the animal. Here we have, strictly speaking, a unity, 
— one in which the well-being of every part absolutely 
depends on the well-being of the whole, — one whose 
unity can never be destroyed, and never reproduced when 
the individual has once perished. Every animal existence 
thus stands forth as something distinct and separate 
from the world of nature around, and possessing a living 
force of its own. To merge again into the elements of 
nature is death to the individual. Moreover, the higher 
in the scale of being any individual rises, the more 
marked and distinctive is its individuality. In civilized 



30 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

man, every individual is well nigh as different from every 
other as though each belonged to a different class ; and 
the higher the mental development, the more expressive 
becomes the individual character. We must regard the 
tendency to individualization, accordingly, as one of the 
fundamental phenomena in the whole region of vitality, 
— one, too, which increases in proportion as life rises 
into its higher and more perfect forms. The very first 
vital effort bears upon it the tendency to individualize ; 
and yet the term individuality is the purest expression 
we can find for designating the nature of the soul, even 
in its most perfect development. We may regard this, 
therefore, as a fundamental characteristic of all vital 
phenomena from the lowest to the highest. 

2. A second fundamental fact we have to notice in the 
nature of living beings is their depen dance upon the 
physical forces by which they are surrounded. In this 
respect they differ essentially from things without life. 
Inorganic substances, which have no individuality, are 
wholly independent of every thing else. They maintain 
their passive existence without sensible change, and need 
no obvious support from without. Living beings, on the 
contrary, notwithstanding their individuality, yet are 
absolutely dependent upon constant supplies from the 
world at large. According to the best light of modern 
physiology, the vital forces in the human frame stand in 
close correlation with the physical forces of the universe, 
and derive from them their hourly sustentation. This 
same principle of dependance we see to pervade every 
stage of conscious existence, appertaining alike to every 
form in which life and consciousness exhibit themselves. 
Vital-force, as we have already shown, depends upon the 
surrounding elements of nature for nutriment and sup- 
port j nerve-force, in its turn, is supported by the vital- 
force. In addition to this, it is also acted upon directly 



FUNDAMENTAL DISTINCTIONS OF VITAL PHENOMENA. 31 

by stimuli from without, and only by means of such 
stimuli is enabled to perform its proper functions. 
Without light, e. g., the eye could not see; without an 
atmosphere, the ear could never hear ; without its proper 
impulses, not one of the senses could carry out its pur- 
pose in the animal economy. Lastly, mind-force must 
be excited and maintained by the nerve-force ; and thus 
it also indirectly derives its energy and vigour from the 
influences of the outer world. Were no impulse from 
external nature to reach the mind within, we have no 
reason to think that any one of its powers or capacities 
could be developed. 

Thus, life itself, in whatever form, is a lamp that is 
perpetually burning out, and which needs, therefore, to 
be perpetually sustained. Every living being is placed 
in the midst of a system of things which is perfectly 
adapted to it, as it is to them. If no stimulus from 
without act upon it, its powers can be neither developed 
nor sustained. Just as the plant requires air, sunshine, 
moisture, and nutriment from the soil, so also does every 
other kind of animated existence live in an environment 
of physical influences, to which it must adapt itself, and 
by which alone life can be regularly kept up and brought 
to its full maturity. 

3. Another universal fact in relation to all organized 
existence is that of growth. Nothing that possesses life 
is created perfect and mature. It appears first as a germ, 
in which none of the developments of the perfected 
being are in the least visible. The seed-germ of the plant 
is sometimes said to contain the plant itself potentially, 
and the cell-germ of the animal to contain the future 
animal potentially. All that can be meant by this is, 
that there are certain powers inherent in the germs both 
of the one and the other, which, when subjected to the 
appropriate stimuli, gather nutriment from the material 



32 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

that surrounds them, set in motion a process of develop- 
ment, construct the organs of the future being, one after 
the other, and thus complete the destiny of the indi- 
vidual which it has all along represented. The structure 
of the human body, like all others, is produced by a 
regular system of growth. The first appearance of it is 
in the form of a single cell, which goes on weaving the 
tissue of physical existence by means of a regular process 
of nutrition from without, and plastic power within, until 
the whole organism is complete. The same process of 
growth takes place whether the organs are those which 
are more directly connected with the vital, the nervous, 
or the mental forces ; and the facts of the case are in each 
instance equally decisive as to the progressive manner in 
which the organs grow up to maturity, and the functions 
they perform are developed. The powers of the body, 
the energy of the nerves, and the faculties of the mind, 
grow up as nearly as possible consentaneously ; so that, in 
what physiology teaches us respecting the growth of the 
vital organs and the nerves, we have, to say the least, an 
analogy by which we ought to gain some insight into the 
laws of mental development also. Thus, to sum up the 
whole in a single sentence, individualization — nutrition — 
growth — these three appear to be the universal charac- 
teristics of all things which possess life, in whatever way 
that life may manifest itself. 

Now, let us see if we can combine these distinctive 
attributes of vitality into one idea, so as to bring to light 
some general fact or law which may be applicable to the 
ivJiole sphere of organic existence. The first attribute we 
mentioned was the tendency to individualization. This 
is, in other words, the power of self -maintenance, the 
capacity of resisting and repelling all which would other- 
wise tend to disintegrate the organism, and reduce it to 
the common elements of nature. The second attribute 



FUNDAMENTAL DISTINCTIONS OF VITAL PHENOMENA. 33 

was the dependency of all organic and living existences 
upon the physical forces around them. This is, in other 
words, the power of attraction and assimilation, the 
capacity of selecting what is conducive to life and well- 
being from nature, then of appropriating and incorpo- 
rating it, and, lastly, by this means, of making it part 
of our own individuality. The third attribute was that 
of growth, which is a process in which both the above- 
mentioned powers are combined ; for in growth we see 
the development of the individual, as an individual, 
carried on by means of nutrition drawn from without; 
continued life resulting from a balance, as it were, of 
these two forces. 

We find, accordingly, that there are two great facts or 
laws pervading the whole sum of organized and conscious 
existence, the law of attraction and the law of repulsion, — 
the law of assimilation and the law of separation. We 
see this in the plant. The elements of nature perpetually 
act upon it, and would soon absorb all its sap if left to 
the natural operation of the physical forces. But the 
vital principle reacts, and converts those very physical 
forces, which would otherwise consume it, into nutri- 
ment and health. The case is the same with animal 
existence. Here, in connexion with the vital-force, we 
have the power of assimilation on the one side, drawing 
from external nature everything that is necessary for 
support, for growth, and for continued existence, and 
the powers of repulsion, of secretion, and of excretion on 
the other, wmich avoid, throw off, and eject everything 
prejudicial to life, everything, therefore, which would 
interfere with the maintenance of the being's individu- 
ality, or cause it to return to the unorganized elements 
of nature. 

Rising from the vital to the nerve-force, we find here, 
also, the same twofold law in operation, for all nervous 

D 



34 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

processes are carried on by the double power of action 
and reaction. Every nerve of special sensation has the 
property of assimilating and propagating certain impulses 
from without, and then of exciting a reactive force, 
which expends itself in motion communicated, and 
repulsion effected in reference to the world without. 

And then, lastly, we find the same law, in another 
form, pervading all the operations of the mind-force, 
from the lower instincts up to the highest exercise of 
reason. For what is instinct but the power of adapta- 
tion to external circumstances, i.e., of selecting what is 
conducive to well-being, and repelling all that is noxious 
to it ? And what is reasoning but the power of sepa- 
rating and distinguishing, as a necessary preliminary to 
the assimilation and complete appropriation of truth ? To 
point out all the different forms, however, in which this 
twofold law works throughout the whole economy of 
living nature, would be to anticipate much of our suc- 
ceeding analysis. We must content ourselves at present 
with having indicated it as the most general, universal, 
and fundamental fact of life, whether physical or mental. 

Doubtless, this law of action and reaction may appear 
at first very vague and abstract, but so, in truth, are all 
facts which claim a high degree of generality. The laws 
of attraction and repulsion, as applied to the material 
world, appear very vague and abstract generalities ; but 
we may follow their working into the smallest details, 
and show how the same principles by which the planets 
revolve in their courses really determine the forms and 
movements of every material existence, and shape the 
minutest conveniences of our daily life. 

So it is with the fundamental laws of the human 
mind. Once grasp them, even in the form of bare 
generalities, and we may soon find that they carry a light 
with them, more or less, into all the operations of the 



FUNDAMENTAL DISTINCTIONS OP VITAL PHENOMENA. 35 

soul, and connect together facts and phenomena which 
seemed before wide as the poles asunder. 

In fine, the double law of mind, which we have just 
explained, answers almost perfectly, in its particular 
sphere, to the universal law of gravitation in the world 
of matter. And, just as the latter gives us the key to a 
vast number of physical facts, so shall we find that the 
former will enable us to track our way through some of 
the most intricate paths of mental philosophy, with the 
light of a universal principle to point out the right way. 



d 2 



CHAPTER II. 

CONSIDERATION OF THE POINT AT WHICH THE 
MENTAL PHENOMENA DIVERGE EROM THE 
PURELY VITAL. 



The view we have taken in the previous chapter of the 
vital and mental forces is opposed to the common notion 
that the body with its functions is one thing, the mind 
and its functions another. Physiology has rendered this 
notion wholly untenable. The alternative of the old 
dualistic theory, however, is by no means to force us 
into materialism. So far from that, we may hold that 
there is already a nascent spark of intelligence in the 
primary cell, from which the individual man is developed, 
and that this is, in fact, the soul in its primary, un- 
conscious state, already commencing that series of acts 
which reach up, in one unbroken chain, to the highest 
efforts of reason and will. 

Some intelligent principle must exist there from the 
moment the formation o£ the human frame commences, 
or no acts of design could be performed. We cannot 
say, for example, that it is a direct act of the Deity 
which builds up every cell, disposes every atom of 
matter, and impels each individual physical process, any 
more than we can suppose it to be an act of the Deity 
which causes every impulse of the nervous system, pro- 
duces every instinctive movement, and intervenes in 
every single sensation. To separate one series of the 
processes which make up the whole sum of vitality from 



CONSIDERATION OF MENTAL PHENOMENA. 37 

another, arid attribute this part to a Divine interference, 
and that part to the mind itself, is simply absurd. The 
theory of direct Divine interference in our bodily func- 
tions, in any form, would land us, if logically carried 
out, into the most complete confession of Pantheism. 
We hold, therefore, that the spark of Divine intelligence 
which constitutes the soul of man acts within us tcn- 
consciously from the first. It is it which, by an inherent 
law, adds cell to cell, shapes the tissues into organs and 
limbs, adapts the body to perform the functions of life, 
constructs the wondrous network of the nervous system, 
and gives it power to vibrate at the bidding of the world 
without. The fact that vital-force, nerve-force, and 
mind-force can all interwork, and all be interchanged, 
shows that they must be one and the same at the root. 
We may affirm, indeed, with Schelling, that all physical 
motion, activity, and life-effort is only an unconscious 
thinking; that unconscious activity to a vast amount, 
therefore, underlies all our consciousness ; and that it is 
by a natural course of development that the soul becomes 
raised from its primary condition of unconscious intelli- 
gence, and blind activity, into the higher state of self- 
consciousness and volition. These remarks are, of course, 
theoretical. We just throw them out on the way, to aid 
us in seeing the self-consistency of the facts we are now 
presenting ; and, having done so, we shall return to 
the marshalling and arranging of the facts themselves. 

Our object, then, in the present chapter, is to show 
the point at which the mental may be said to rise out of 
the vital ; the point, in other words, where life first 
begins to assume its higher and spiritual form. To solve 
this problem, we must first consider what it is which 
mainly distinguishes the merely vital phenomena from 
those which we may designate mental. Widely as these 
two series of phenomena are distinguished from each 



38 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

other at their extremes, they yet insensibly blend to- 
gether in that region where they come more closely into 
contact. How, then, are we to draw the line of demar- 
cation ? 

The most convenient rule of distinction appears to me 
to be the following — that the vital processes are those 
which are confined to the well-being of our individual 
self ; while the mental processes are those which point to 
something apart and distinct from self. The former 
class relate wholly to the body — physically considered. 
This is the entire sphere of their activity. They do not 
know or acknowledge the existence of anything beyond. 
The latter, on the contrary, always relate in some way 
or other to what lies without, and apart from the indi- 
vidual, whether in the world of matter or the world of 
ideas. The one has for its object the subjective condi- 
tion of each individual man ; the other has for its object 
his position in the world which surrounds him. This 
will be found, on reflection, to mark off the two spheres 
of vital and of mental activity with very satisfactory 
precision. So long as the forces within us are concerned 
with the structure of the frame, with its nutrition, con- 
servation, growth, and reparation, in whatever form 
these purposes may be promoted, we term them physical. 
On the other hand, the moment the forces within us 
have an object beyond and apart from the direct well- 
being of the organism, whether it be involved in a 
sensation, a perception, an act of memory, or judgment, 
nay, even in an instinct or a volition, — we term those 
forces mental. 

The common ground where the physical and the 
mental unite is the nervous system. The nerve-force is 
connected sometimes with the lower or physical pro- 
cesses, as when it assists in the motion of the heart or 
lungs ; and sometimes with the higher or mental pro- 



CONSIDERATION OF MENTAL PHENOMENA. 39 

cesses, as when it produces sensation, or aids us in 
executing our volitions. The point, then, which we 
require to find (that, namely, at which the mental 
phenomena diverge from the purely physical) is exactly 
the moment in .which the nervous system ceases to 
subserve purely internal processes, and points to some 
object apart from ourselves. We cannot say, indeed, 
even when this point is found, that there is more intel- 
ligence directly manifested in the one form of nervous 
activity than the other. We call the act of eating a 
voluntary process, while the act of digestion is pro- 
nounced a physical or vital one ; but the nerve-force 
which subserves the one is as much adapted to accom- 
plish a purpose as that which subserves the other, and 
we are equally impelled to both by instincts and wants 
over which we have little or no control. Just so with 
regard to the organs of the body. The organizing 
power by which they are produced is termed vital; 
and the free use of those organs when produced is 
termed mental : but there is as much intelligence dis- 
played in the construction of the organs with a view to 
their future use as there is in the use of them itself. 
And both kinds of intelligence, as we have just shown, 
must be immanent in the laws of our mental and physical 
constitution. 

The division, therefore, which we now make between 
the vital and the mental is, after all, arbitrary, — as far 
as the real character of the nerve-force, which is active 
in both cases, is concerned. It simply subserves a con* 
venient purpose to make some division between them ; 
and that division is pretty clearly marked by saying 
that the nerve-force is termed vital, so long as it is wholly 
subjective and internal ; but that we term it mental so 
soon as it takes us out of ourselves and connects us with 
the objective world. 



40 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

To determine, then, the point at which the nerve-force 
begins to assume its higher or " mental " form we must 
take a general view of the nervous system itself, and its 
ascertained functions, referring the reader, of course, to 
the standard works on physiology, if he wishes to know 
the details of the subject, and to trace their verification. 

Every one at all acquainted with the elements of 
Neurology knows that there are two different kinds of 
nerve matter, distinguished first by their colour — the one 
being grey, the other white ; and secondly, by their 
structure, — the one being composed of a cellular sub- 
stance, the other being simply fibrous. To all the 
different masses of the grey or cellular matter we give 
the common name of ganglia; and it is apprehended 
that these ganglia are the originators of all functional 
changes, while the fibrous threads are supposed merely 
to connect the several functions one with another. 

Now, the first portion of the nervous system to which 
we have to refer, is that which is termed the sympathetic 
system. The sympathetic nerves are largely distributed 
throughout the body, branching out from two regular 
chains in front of the vertical column, and especially 
accompanying the blood-vessels. There is every reason 
to believe from a variety of observations and experi- 
ments, that these nerves have especial reference to the 
vital functions, i.e., to the circulation of the blood — the 
process of nutrition — and to the various secretions of 
the body. Here, then, there can be no question of 
mental force, properly so-called ; all is as yet purely 
subjective and physical. 

Tracing, however, the functions of the nervous system 
upwards, we come next to the great discovery of Sir C. 
Bell, namely, that, beside the sympathetic system, there 
are two other distinct systems of nerves subserving two 
distinct purposes; I mean the nerves of sensation and 



CONSIDERATION OF MENTAL PHENOMENA. 41 

the nerves of motion. The nerves of sensation have been 
appropriately termed afferent; they are those which 
bring impressions to us from the world without, and 
make us cognisant of all the affections to which the 
body, in its external relations, is exposed. The nerves of 
motion, which run, for the most part, side by side with 
the others, have been termed efferent. They are those 
which convey the impulses emanating from the various 
centres of nervous activity to all parts of the circum- 
ference, and thus enable us to move the different portions 
of our frame at the behest of instinct or the will. These 
two classes of nerves thus form one complete organ for 
producing action and reaction between ourselves and the 
world without. 

To this great spinal system are superadded, lastly, the 
cerebral hemispheres. By means of these, two further 
results are secured; first, the outward impressions con- 
veyed by the nerves are elaborated into ideas ; and 
secondly, the voluntary acts originating within are carried 
into execution through the motor system. We may regard, 
therefore, this whole cranio-spinal apparatus as being, 
par excellence, the organ of what is peculiarly termed 
mind-force, — the intelligence being represented by the 
sensational system and its cerebral developments, the 
will by the motor system and its excitants. The natural 
history of the development of this entire system will, 
accordingly, be precisely correlative with the history of 
our mental development ; its highest acts will stand 
correlated with our highest mental processes, and con- 
versely, its lowest or primary acts will be exactly parallel 
with the first expression of mind-force in the growth of 
the individual. Here, then, we have a clue to the solu- 
tion of the problem started in the present chapter, 
namely, the determination of the point where the mental 
phenomena are first seen to emerge from our physical 



42 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

life. For, as the whole of the cranio-spinal system is 
constructed in reference to our converse with the outer 
world, containing a complete machinery for action and 
reaction between self and nature, the first movements of 
this system in carrying out its proper functions will be 
the first act of mind-force properly so called. 

It was long a current opinion that the brain was the 
one great central moving organ of the whole nervous 
system, and that all the other ganglia were but collateral 
and subordinate to it. It is now known, however, 
chiefly through the results of comparative physiology, 
that the root of the nervous system is rather in the 
spinal cord, with its various ganglionic enlargements ; 
and that there are no less than three independent centres 
of nerve-force. The first of these centres is the spinal 
cord itself. If the encephalon of a frog be severed 
from the spinal cord it is found that, on exciting certain 
nerves at the extremities, the animal will begin to hop 
exactly as if it were whole. This shows us that in the 
frog at least the spinal system forms a distinct centre of 
nerve-force ; action and reaction taking place without 
any communication whatever with the brain. Dr. 
Marshall Hall, led on by experiments of this kind, 
succeeded in demonstrating that the spinal system in man 
is likewise an independent centre of innervation, and 
that numerous actions take place by means of motor 
impulses originating there, in which the consciousness 
has no part whatever. To such actions he gave the name 
of excito-motor. 

Secondly, it will be within the experience of every 
one that there are various actions we perform instinc- 
tively as the direct result of some sensation. A sudden 
flash of light will often superinduce sneezing ; the sight 
or smell of anything disgusting will produce nausea and 
vomiting ; tickling in some parts of the body will pro- 



CONSIDERATION OF MENTAL PHENOMENA. 43 

duce inordinate laughter, or impel the hand to the spot 
to prevent the effect. These actions are closely con- 
nected with the nerves of special sensations. As these 
nerves terminate in ganglionic centres at the base of the 
brain, so the corresponding reactions must obviously 
emanate from the same point. To distinguish them, 
therefore, from the mere excito-motory impulses, they 
have been termed sensori-motor actions. The peculiarity 
of the phenomena emanating from this portion of the 
nervous system is, that, while they are performed con- 
sciously on the one side, yet they are uncontrolled by 
thought or volition on the other. They realize, there- 
fore, the exact idea we form of instinct. Those animals 
which, like the bee, have the instinctive life very re- 
markably developed, possess a large formation of sensory 
ganglia, with little or no brain properly so-called. The 
law of their action is written, as it were, upon the very 
material and structure of the nerves, which only need an 
appropriate impulse from without to produce movements 
which have all the appearance of forethought, of adapta- 
tion, and of volition, while, in reality, they are simply 
reflex actions of the ganglia. Many of our own actions 
are precisely of a similar kind. The whole of the 
sensory ganglia, with their motor reactions, form, in 
fact, a kind of automatic apparatus, which may be set in 
motion either by impulses from without, or by ideas 
working down upon them from within. 

Thirdly, a vast amount of experiment has all tended 
to show that the brain, properly so-called, is concerned 
physiologically with that entire series of intelligent and 
voluntary acts which peculiarly distinguishes man from 
the rest of the creation around him. An impulse from 
without reaching the brain produces, not a sensation, 
but an idea; and the reaction which originates there, 
is one, which is not only accompanied by conscious- 



44 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

ness, but is usually the direct result of a thought or a 
purpose, and carried out by virtue of a distinct act of 
the will. 

Thus, then, we see that there are three great centres 
of nervous activity, corresponding with three great 
classes of phenomena. There is the spinal system, 
which is adapted especially to the production of involun- 
tary muscular motion ; the sensorial system, which sub- 
serves sensation, instinct, and all the actions which are 
not under the control of the reason or the will; and 
lastly, the cerebral system, which stands, physiolo- 
gically speaking, parallel with the phenomena of thought 
and volition. 

Of these three centres, the first is lowest in the order 
of mental development. It occupies, in fact, a sort 
of middle ground between physical action on the one 
hand, and what we term mental action on the other. 
Every reflex act deriving its stimulus from the spinal 
cord is so far a mental phenomenon, that it points 
with evident design to something external which affects 
us, and towards which the involuntary movement is 
directed. On the other hand, it is so far a physical act, 
that it does not awaken the consciousness, or put the 
cerebral system in operation. We may consider, there- 
fore, the excito-motory reflex actions as the first effort of 
the nerve-force to pass over from its physical to its 
mental form. They thus show us the transition from 
the vital force by which the organs are constructed to 
the wind force by which they are put to an intelligent 
use, forming, as it were, the first elements of teleological 
activity which nature has placed at our disposal, and to 
which she has committed the important function of self- 
preservation, when the mind is unable to watch over our 
safety by its own conscious efforts. And there is this 
important principle involved in them, that consciousness 



CONSIDERATION OF MENTAL PHENOMENA. 45 

is not a necessary \ though it is a usual accompaniment of 
our mental operations. The laws of the reflex actions are 
evidently impressed upon the very structure of the 
ganglia, and operate when we are wholly in an uncon- 
scious and involuntary state in relation to them. This 
principle — that of preconscious phenomena — we shall 
find, as we proceed, to be of very great importance in 
the economy of the human system, so much so, that we 
must devote a separate chapter to its consideration. 



CHAPTER III. 
PRECONSCIOTJS MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

The Cartesian philosophy started from the idea, that 
Thought is the ground and proof of existence — " Cogito, 
ergo sum." This principle naturally led the school to 
which it gave rise to regard consciousness as wholly inse- 
parable from mental activity. The same principle 
passed, through Locke, into the modern English school 
of metaphysics, and became a fixed idea with nearly all 
English writers on mental philosophy down to compara- 
tively recent times. 

On the Continent, and especially in Germany, an- 
other and altogether different course was pursued. 
Leibnitz denied the Cartesian dogma ab initio, and 
maintained the doctrine of unconscious perception, or 
latent thought, as a fact which can be verified through- 
out all the stages of animal life, and in the actual opera- 
tions of the human mind. From him the idea of uncon- 
scious intelligence passed into the principal systems 
of modern German philosophy, so that the conception of 
thought being embodied in the various operations of the 
natural world, and gradually rising higher and higher in 
the scale of existence until it appears in the form of self- 
consciousness, is one quite familiar and quite current 
amongst the German philosophical writers. 

More recently, the idea has been revived in this 
country. It- formed, for example, an important element 
in the lectures of the late Sir W. Hamilton, and thus 



PREC0NSCI0US MENTAL ACTIVITY. 47 

again gained currency in its purely psychological form. 
On the side of physiology, the same doctrine was 
brought forward by Dr. Carpenter, under the title of 
unconscious cerebration ; and was pointed out also, 
quite independently, by Dr. Laycock, as being an 
example of the " reflex action of the brain! 9 

Following the method we have already laid down for 
our guidance, we shall now attempt to bring together 
the main facts of what has been termed latent thougld, 
and see if we can trace it by the light of analogy from 
that lower region of mind, where it is easily known and 
ascertained, up to its more recondite and less explored 
forms. 

1. We will begin with the very obvious and well- 
known fact, that an idea, once realized, may exist either 
in or out of consciousness, and that a faculty, once 
acquired, may at any moment be either in or out of 
exercise. Thus, when I have acquired a certain amount 
of mathematical knowledge, I am quite sure that the 
truths involved in it exist tacitly in the mind, though I 
may be utterly unconscious of them at this particular 
time ; and so, also, when I have once learned to speak a 
foreign language, I can depend upon the power of doing 
so continuing to exist, though I may have no oppor- 
tunity at present of exercising it. 

It is by no means a necessary condition, however, of 
our possessing either ideas or capacities of action in this 
potential form, — that we should have any certain know- 
ledge or consciousness of their really existing within us. 
Frequently, when we have not had recent opportunities 
of reviving a train of ideas, or exercising a faculty, we 
feel uncertain whether we may not have lost them alto- 
gether, or, at any rate, lost the power of recalling them 
at will. And it is only after making the attempt, and 
practically testing this power, that we feel sure whether 



48 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

we are really master of them or not. So far, then, as 
ordinary ideas and capacities are concerned, there is no 
doubt but that they may all exist in a latent state within 
us ; nay, that all our mental acquirements do so exist 
whenever they are not the immediate objects of our 
consciousness. 

2. But now, secondly, we can go a step further in the 
doctrine of latency, and show, by a large array of facts, 
that latent powers exist within us, and can be aroused 
under peculiar conditions, of which we have ordinarily 
no knowledge, and over which we can exercise ordi- 
narily no voluntary control. With regard to ideas and 
trains of ideas in the memory, there are numerous 
examples on record in which an astounding revival of 
them has been brought about, after every trace had long 
disappeared from the consciousness in its ordinary state. 
For example, persons in fever or delirium have been 
known to speak languages which they had long forgotten ; 
old people, whose memory of recent events is almost 
obliterated, experience a perfect revival of the scenes of 
their youth ; in moments of extreme danger, the events 
of a whole life will seem pictured before us with all the 
vividness of reality. Cases of such kind are almost of 
daily occurrence, and form a part of the observed and 
well-established phenomena of the human mind. 

Again, with regard to powers of action, — unknown, 
and even unsuspected capacities are sometimes drawn 
forth by peculiar physical conditions. This is con- 
stantly witnessed in somnambulism, in mesmeric sleep, 
and in other analogous states of body. Powers of 
acting, of imitation, of verbal expression, of command 
over the muscles, the limbs, the voice, and even the 
vital functions of the body, are developed under these 
conditions, which far transcend anything of which the 
person is capable in his ordinary volitional state. All 



PRECONSCIOUS MENTAL ACTIVITY. 49 

this betokens a vast amount of latent power, inacces- 
sible to the ordinary control of the will, but which only 
needs certain higher vital conditions to bring it out into 
full activity. 

Once more, it may be shown that there are latent 
powers or tendencies which have been inherited, and 
which often remain unknown until brought out by 
peculiar circumstances. A familiar example of this may 
be seen in the young pointer. The habit of pointing at 
game is originally an acquired one ; but so strong does 
this habit become seated in the race, that the very first 
time the young pointer is taken into the field, he will 
stand and mark it, thus developing an instinct which is 
not original, but yet becomes after a time hereditary. 
Exactly in this way we find in man peculiarities of 
mind, temper, thought, habit, volition, &c, appearing 
and re-appearing in families and races. Lord Brougham 
is said, in the " Life of Moore," to have found some of 
his grandfather's writing exactly resembling his own, 
though the grandfather had died before he was born, 
and his father's was quite different. The whole fact, 
indeed, of the progress of races and the development of 
human civilization, depends, in all probability, upon the 
gradual evolution of new powers in the process of 
human life, and their transmission as hereditary tenden- 
cies in increasing ratio from one generation to another. 
We do not presume at present to give any physiological 
theory to account for these facts ; but we simply point to 
the facts themselves, as direct proofs of the existence of 
teleological habits, tendencies, faculties, and ideas, as 
latent principles in the human individual, — principles 
which can modify human thought and action, and trans- 
late themselves, when the proper conditions arise, from a 
merely potential to an actual and conscious existence. 

3. But, thirdly, another question arises : — How far is 

E 



50 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

it demonstrable, not merely that we possess latent germs 
of thought and action within us, but. that mental processes 
themselves take place without any consciousness of them 
whatever? Many facts concur to prove that they do. 
We shall mention a few of the more obvious examples 
by which the supposition in question is demonstrated. 

First. After puzzling over a difficult problem a long 
time, and leaving it unsolved, we not unfrequently find, 
on taking it up again, that the materials have rearranged 
themselves in our minds, so that the solution is perfectly 
easy. The process by which this has taken place lies, of 
course, altogether out of the light of consciousness. 
Secondly. One idea will sometimes suggest another, 
which had, as far as we know, no previous connexion 
with it. Sir W. Hamilton mentions, that, on one occa- 
sion, the thought of certain German systems of education 
followed immediately on the thought of Ben Lomond. 
Being interested to know how this was, he instituted a 
psychological search, and found that the last time he 
was on Ben Lomond he met a German professor there, 
with whom he conversed on this topic. The intermediate 
links, ^jt is inferred, were supplied by a latent process. 
Thirdly. Habits, when fully acquired, will come into 
operation, under proper circumstances, quite uncon- 
sciously. A good performer on the piano will play 
admirable music when his mind is wholly occupied with 
other subjects of thought or conversation. The mental 
process which directs his fingers, we again conclude is a 
latent one. The very same phenomenon happens in the 
case of all occupations, when they have become by practice 
purely mechanical. Fourthly. A good example of latent 
thought and activity is seen in what is termed spirit- 
writing, spirit-drawing, and so on. Apart from any theory 
on the subject of mediumship generally, there is no doubt 
that a vast number of actions, involving intelligence, 



PRECONSCIOUS MENTAL ACTIVITY. 51 

adaptation, design, are performed by persons who are 
termed mediums quite unconsciously; so that, on any 
theory whatever, there must be ideas and energies pass- 
ing through the mind, and affecting the motor nerves, 
which do not at the time come at all within the light of 
consciousness. Fifthly. Cases of this kind often occur. 
We write a letter and despatch it. Two or three days 
after we remember that we have made an error in the 
statement, or spelt a word incorrectly. At the time, the 
error was committed unconsciously ; by a latent process 
that error is brought, perhaps, some days after, into the 
sphere of consciousness. Sixthly. Closely related to the 
above case is the very singular phenomenon of double 
consciousness. I have myself seen many persons mes- 
merized or hypnotized, and in this condition perform a 
number of actions, or carry on intelligent conversations, 
of which they were wholly unconscious the moment they 
were brought back into the normal state. On being 
hypnotized, however, over again, they took up the thread 
exactly where it was broken off before. Thus the mind 
was divided into two separate streams of consciousness, 
which never seemed to interfere in the slightest degree 
with each other. 

We need not multiply further examples of a fact 
which, perhaps, is already sufficiently obvious ; but shall 
next attempt to look at it more closely, for the sake of 
analysis and explanation. 

First of all, it is evident that, in cases of revived im- 
pressions, such as those above stated, there is some 
peculiar form of vital action going on internally, with 
which the revived ideas or trains of ideas are in some 
way connected. 

Secondly. It follows from this that there must be 
certain vital changes which correspond with mental ones, 
— so correspond, that, if the former are superinduced by 

e 2 



52 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

external circumstances, the latter will come with them 
into the light of consciousness, quite independently of 
any volition of our own. 

Thirdly. These vital changes, however, may exist, and 
may affect the nervous system without awakening the 
consciousness at all ; so that nervous action, representing 
intelligent ideas, and actually stimulating us to teleo- 
logical activity, may take place within us while the con- 
sciousness is wholly insensible to it. Most of the cases 
above mentioned are examples of this fact. 

Fourthly. It follows, still further, from this, that there 
is a latent intelligence within us which works ideolo- 
gically, apart from will, feeling, sensation, or any kind of 
consciousness whatever ; and this it is which we now 
designate as preconscious mental activity. 

With this truth, then, in our hands, we can now trace 
our way back to the sphere of preconscious action with 
some degree of certainty. We can understand, for ex- 
ample, that if, previous to the actual development of 
consciousness, there is no explicit intelligence evolved, 
still there may be internal changes going on within us, 
which correspond with certain states of consciousness as 
yet unrealized, but which may hereafter be unfolded. 

For example : if we go back to the verge of uncon- 
scious life— I mean to the first days of infancy — we find 
a number of actions performed of a purely instinctive 
nature, which show, in their adaptation to certain ends, 
that there must be an intelligent principle within, which 
impels and shapes them. The winking of the eyes — the 
contraction and extension of the limbs — the action of the 
mouth in seeking the appropriate nutriment, and many 
other similar instinctive movements, all prove that there 
are teleological changes going on internally, altogether 
anterior to consciousness, — changes out of which con- 
sciousness itself has to be gradually evolved. 



PRECONSCIOUS MENTAL ACTIVITY. 53 

Let us, however, go one step further back still, and 
look at the embryo man during that state in which the 
organism is building up, the instruments of future use 
preparing, and the forms of beauty inherent in the 
human frame being sketched out by the inward uncon- 
scious artist. All these effects we now know, by the 
light of physiology, are produced by the continued repe- 
tition of that primitive act by which the primary cellular 
tissue is constructed. By what power, then, is this act 
impelled and sustained ? To attribute the placing of each 
atom and the structure of each cell to the direct inter- 
ference of the Deity would compel us, for consistency's 
sake, to attribute all vital and all nervous action to the 
same source, and would in the end be simply a complete 
confession of Pantheism — a merging of the Deity into 
nature. Beside which, there is the most complete 
individuality impressed upon the bodily organs from the 
first ; and that individuality bears also the stamp, more 
or less, of the parental type — nay, of the parental mind. 
The only inference we can possibly draw is, that these 
preconscious activities are carried on by virtue of an 
inherent principle of intelligence — by an immanent teleo- 
logical law — in one word, by an unconscious soul. From 
the first moment in which the mind-principle and the 
material-principle were brought into conjunction through 
the agency of the parents, a distinctive individuality 
came into existence — the formative power representing 
the mind, the matter itself representing the body. This 
individuality grows up by the mutual co-operation of the 
primary mental and vital forces, until the organism is 
prepared, an independent human existence is commenced, 
and a new era of development takes its start, accom- 
panied by an ever-opening and ever self-enriching con- 
sciousness. 

Thus, by tracing the evidences there are in man of 
unconscious mental activity ; by showing that we have 



54 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

instances of it in the case of habits, secret associations of 
ideas, mechanical and instinctive actions, &c. ; by disco- 
vering, in this way, that the intelligent principle within 
us is independent of consciousness, and can operate by 
its own laws, whether in the light of consciousness or out 
of it ; we are enabled to carry the analogy up to a pre- 
conscious era of our existence, and conclude that there 
are mental activities analogous to these going on even in 
this early period of our being, out of which activities 
consciousness itself is at last evolved. 

One important conclusion can be drawn from this, 
namely, that the human mind is not a tabula rasa, upon 
which experience has to write all the characters. Every 
individual has his own distinctive type ; brings with him 
into the world mental tendencies and characteristics, 
derived from his parents and ancestors ; possesses vital 
substrata, which operate prior to consciousness alto- 
gether ; exhibits the working of inward teleological 
forces which bear the stamp of individuality before the 
conscious reason is awakened, and impress that stamp 
thus early upon an organism framed to correspond 
perfectly to the soul, of which it is the instrument and 
the habitation. 

We have thus presented the principal facts which 
bear upon the doctrine of preconscious mental activity, 
and we have theorized on those facts so far as to draw 
the following conclusions : — 1st, That the vital-forces 
and the mind-forces are one and the same at their root ; 
2 dry, That all our conscious life rests upon the basis of 
an unconscious life, out of which it grows ; and, 3rdly, 
That there is such a correspondency between vital and 
mental activity, that the laws of the one will help us to 
throw some light upon the laws of the other. Of the 
facts there can be no doubt ; the theory we hold simply 
as the best interpretation of those facts which can be 
at present suggested. 



CHAPTER IV. 

PRIMORDIAL MENTAL ACTIVITY ACCOMPANIED 
WITH CONSCIOUSNESS. 



In the preceding chapters we have shown that every de- 
velopment of mind-force, as far as our experience goes, 
is connected with the cranio -spinal system — that this, in 
fact, is its material organ. We have also seen that 
within this system there are three centres of nervous 
action, each of which is marked by certain peculiarities 
of its own. The lowest of the three is the spinal cord, 
in the reflex actions originating from which we recog- 
nised the first rudimentary efforts of the nerve-force 
to subserve other than mere physical processes. The 
teleorganic principle within us, having hitherto presided 
over the formation and development of the organs, 
shows, in these so-termed excito^-motor actions, the first 
tendency to direct us to their proper use in relation 
to external objects. Here already we have the law 
of action and reaction in its higher form — the action of 
the world upon ourselves, and the reaction of ourselves 
upon the world, but as yet wholly unaccompanied by 
consciousness. 

The second centre of nervous action is found in the 
mass of ganglia lying at the base of the brain. It 
is here that all the nerves of special sensation terminate ; 
here, accordingly, that we may locate what has been 
termed the sensorium. No sooner do these sensory 



>. 



56 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

ganglia commence their proper functions, than the light 
of consciousness breaks in upon us — dimly, indeed, at 
first, but brightening with every succeeding experience. 
It is in connexion, therefore, with this particular portion 
of our nervous system, and with the special functions 
which it subserves, that we trace the commencement of 
mental activity in its proper and acknowledged, because 
in its conscious, form. The step, indeed, from the 
excito-motor to the sensori-motor phenomena is, in most 
respects, a very small one. The same kind of action and 
reaction between the external object and the nerves 
takes place in both, and the resulting movements are 
equally independent of, and uncontrolled by, any volition 
of our own. The main difference is, that, as soon as the 
impulse ab extra reaches the sensorium, consciousness is 
awakened, and the accompanying actions are at once 
attributed to the mind — the self — the individual, what- 
ever we may conceive that to be. In point of fact, it is 
the adaptive energy of the nervous system working 
under the influence of the, as yet, unconscious soul, 
which is operative as much in the one case as in the 
other — but it is only when the era of consciousness 
begins to dawn that we speak of self or the individual — 
as the motive power. 

We have now, accordingly, two distinct factors 
brought under our consideration — 1st, various external 
impulses acting upon us through the organism ; and, 
2ndly, a nervous centre, which receives those impulses, 
makes us conscious of them, and initiates a reaction. 
These impulses, we need hardly say, vary indefinitely in 
point of strength ; and the nerve-force which receives 
them, and reacts, varies equally as to its intensity in 
relation to the impulse which acts upon it. This being 
the case, it is almost self-evident that the effect produced 
will be very different according to the relation which the 



PRIMORDIAL MENTAL ACTIVITY, ETC. 57 

strength of the impulse bears to the strength of the 
nervous reaction. 

Let us take a familiar example as an explanation 
of this point from the sense of smell. An intensely 
strong and pungent scent suddenly affecting the nerves 
will produce acute pain. The action being so great in 
relation to the power of reaction, no other than a painful 
result can follow. A moderately strong scent, on the 
contrary — one which can just fill and satisfy the power 
of reaction — will often produce the most lively pleasure. 
But if, thirdly, the effect upon the nerve is very slight, 
so as not to satisfy the power of the organ, then desire 
is awakened, and maintained till satisfaction ensues. 

We see from this, that when the outward impulse is 
too small in relation to the nerve-force on which it acts, 
the resulting experience is dissatisfaction and desire. If 
the impulse just exceeds the nerve-force, and satisfies it, 
the resulting experience is pleasure. Lastly, if the 
impulse is excessive in relation to the power of reaction, 
then the resulting experience is_pain. There may be, of 
course, any number of intermediate states ; but these 
are the main facts which we have at present to notice. 

Prom the above explanations, we may pretty clearly 
understand the main characteristics of what is termed 
instinct. If we experience desire as a consequence of 
that peculiar combination of the two factors which 
we have above indicated, an instinct is awakened which 
prompts us to seek for satisfaction, and to perform those 
particular actions which are most likely to lead to it. 
If we experience pleasure, then we have an instinct 
aroused which leads us to grasp, and keep inviolate the 
means of perpetuating it. If we experience pain, then 
an equally strong instinct is aroused to relieve and 
avoid it. 

These instincts are not at all under the control of our 



58 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

volition; they are purely sensorimotor actions, flowing 
spontaneously from the constitution of the nervous 
system, and the unconscious law of intelligence which 
guides and impels it. They differ from the excito- 
motor actions only in the fact of being ordinarily accom- 
panied by consciousness, and consequently may be 
regarded as the first and most primordial kind of 
conscious mental activity— that activity in which man 
and the lower animals stand very much on a level, and 
in which intelligence, though distinctly manifested, 
appears to lie under the control of necessity, and to be 
wholly unguided by the power of the will. 

The notions which have been entertained respecting 
the nature of instinct, particularly in respect to the 
animal creation, have abounded with error and confusion. 
First of all, mind has been identified with consciousness 
and volition ; a distinct line of separation has then been 
drawn between those actions which are guided by voli- 
tion and those which are not ; and lastly, as a natural 
consequence of this, all the volitional actions have been 
attributed to mind as their origin, while all the un- 
volitional ones have been attributed to the organism and 
its natural laws. Instinctive actions thus formed a kind 
of middle class of phenomena, which could not be very 
readily brought either under the one category or the 
other. Hence the tendency to attribute them to some 
power (perhaps the direct agency of the Deity), standing 
apart both from the mental and physical forces. The 
marks of intelligent design displayed even in the lowest 
instinctive actions were too manifest to allow of their 
being regarded simply as the results of a material law, 
while their arbitrary and involuntary character seemed, 
on the other hand, to shut them out from the region of 
purely mental phenomena. Thus, their explanation was 
abandoned to any chance theory that fancy or ingenuity 



PRIMORDIAL MENTAL ACTIVITY, ETC. 59 

could invent. The broader view we have now taken of 
mind and its operations will throw a fresh light on the 
whole question, and perhaps enable us to solve the 
difficulties by which it has been beset. 

We have seen, first, that mind and consciousness are 
by no means to be identified ; that the intelligent prin- 
ciple, under the form of a plastic creative power, is 
really at work from the existence of the very first cell- 
germ ; that it unconsciously shapes the organs for 
future use ; and that, in the reflex actions of the spinal 
cord, it already commences to teach us the use of the 
organs it had already formed. Now, therefore, when 
the light of consciousness breaks in upon the process, we 
have no difficulty in identifying instinct as another 
and somewhat more advanced effort of that same tele- 
organic principle which is seen at work in the earlier 
organic processes, and which at length steps in to aid us 
in securing those ends to which life in all its previous 
efforts had been tending. 

Another error that has arisen out of the mechanical 
view of the question to which we just referred, is that all 
instincts are fixed and unchangeable, and wholly in- 
accessible, therefore, to the influences of education. A 
comparatively slight attention to the habits of animals 
soon shows us that this is not the case. The instincts 
of animals uniformly adapt themselves to the circum- 
stances under which those animals continuously live. 
The same animal develops in one climate very different 
instincts from what it does in another. Domestic 
animals experience, from their contact with man, an 
almost entire change in their instincts. Animals 
employed for any special purpose — as the setter — form 
the strongest possible instincts for this particular duty. 
The young setter, e.g., will stand and point out the 



60 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

game the first time it enters the field, the instinct 
being inherited from its parents almost like a part of its 
very nature. Facts of this kind, which might be accu- 
mulated to any extent, show us that instinct, in place of 
having a certain fixed and unalterable physical charac- 
teristic, is really an intelligent adaptive power, that takes 
into account the whole of the circumstances in which 
the individual lives, and moulds its habits of life accord- 
ingly. Conscious intelligence indeed it is not ; but it is 
none the less a development of that great underlying 
principle of intelligence which we have already seen to 
be immanent in the human organism from the first 
moment of its existence, which pervades the tissues of 
the whole body, and which now begins to express itself 
in a still more developed form through all the functions 
of the nervous system. 

The term instinct, then, expresses accurately the 
primary form of all our conscious mental activity. It is 
the first mode in which the intelligent principle within 
us operates in conjunction with consciousness. In tracing, 
therefore, the history of the human soul from its birth 
to its maturity we must dwell somewhat particularly 
upon this first instinctive era, as forming a kind of crisis 
in its whole being. 

The infant, when born, comes into the world with a 
body completely formed, and, consequently, with a 
perfected nervous system. That nervous system, of 
course, is as yet without experience of impressions of 
any kind. "We do not mean that it is a mere material 
machine, ready made, and only waiting for some spiritual 
force, ab extra, to set it in motion. To this view of the 
case our whole theory of mind stands quite opposed. 
All we mean is, that as yet the newly-created being has 
never come in contact with those powers of nature in the 



PRIMORDIAL MENTAL ACTIVITY, ETC. 61 

midst of which it has henceforth to live, and by means 
of which alone it can carry on the further process of 
mind-development. 

At the period of birth this impressionless state ends, 
and a new era commences. The individual is now, by a 
sudden change of condition, brought into contact with 
those stimuli for which its organization had been silently 
preparing. Amongst these stimuli we may reckon its 
own bodily states, the interchanges of heat and cold, 
the sound of voices, the light of the sun affecting the 
eye, the feeling of hunger, the soothings of the nurse, 
the comfort or discomfort of different positions of the 
body, and many more circumstances of a similar nature. 

These stimuli acting upon the nervous system bring 
about certain reactions, which appear under the form of 
simple primordial instincts. An uncomfortable sensa- 
tion produces struggling and crying, which are the first 
instinctive attempts to avoid "malaise" or actual suffering. 
A comfortable sensation produces nervous excitation, 
which may be considered as the first instinctive expres- 
sion of pleasure. The feeling of hunger in the ali- 
mentary canal produces the first instinctive desire for 
food, and guides the process by which the infant 
obtains its supply. A flash of light causes the eye to 
turn in the direction from which it comes, which is the 
first instinct of curiosity — the rudimentary form of mental 
inquiry. If the light be too strong the eye is at once 
turned away or covered with the eyelid, which are 
only certain primary forms of the instinct of self- 
preservation. 

The nature of these instinctive phenomena is 
tolerably plain. They are, all of them, physiologically 
considered, reflex actions emanating from the sensory 
ganglia. As such they are a simple expression of those 
two fundamental facts, from which all our mental history 



62 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

takes its start — namely, the existence all around us of 
certain appropriate external stimuli, and the internal 
power of receiving those stimuli and reacting respon- 
sively to them. This double process of action and 
reaction in their varied relations to each other calls forth 
the first primordial instincts of our nature, i.e., the first 
unconscious effort at intelligent and adaptive activity in 
connexion with the external world ; and thus our mental 
history on the world's stage begins, and the first act of 
our conscious life is played. 

It is not an uncommon idea to contrast instinct and 
reason, as though they were opposite in their nature, and 
the one excluded the other. The real fact of the case is 
that, so far from being opposites, they are fundamentally 
identical. Instinct is reason; but reason in its unde- 
veloped, semi-unconscious, and wholly involuntary form. 
The primordial instincts we have just referred to are the 
first efforts of reason to awaken from its slumber, and 
to commence a new and conscious life in connexion with 
the higher organism which human nature presents. 
Man is, really speaking, as instinctive a being as any of 
the lower animals. A very large portion of his life and 
activity is always instinctive to the end. The entire 
motor system is automatic in its operations, and a large 
portion of our higher mental activity retains throughout 
life a purely instinctive mode of action. The only 
reason why we notice the instincts in man less than in 
the animals is because our volitional intelligence comes 
gradually to play so much more prominent a part in the 
whole process of human existence. 

In descending, accordingly, to the primordial forms 
of mental activity in man, and tracing the growth of 
mind from its first budding forth in human life, we must 
always go back to the fundamental instincts as the 
starting point. These are really the primitive facts of 



PRIMORDIAL MENTAL ACTIVITY, ETC. 63 

the case. Here are appropriate stimuli, which act upon 
us through the bodily organism, and here are certain 
instinctive powers of reaction which are immediately 
called out by their influence. This is the commence- 
ment of our whole mental history ; and, however great 
that history may hereafter become, it is simply a normal 
growth out of this primary germ. Just as the forma- 
tion of the simple cell in the structure of the animal 
economy is in hind the very same effort of plastic power, 
which, by repetition and accumulation, frames all the 
organs of the body ; so are the first instincts which the 
mind develops under the stimuli of the outer world the 
primary movements of an intellectual power, or mind- 
force, which, by a similar process of steady development, 
constructs all the faculties of our mental constitution. 
The very highest phenomena, whether of intelligence or 
volition, are but the gradual expansion of what is poten- 
tially contained here. 

We have now, therefore, the problem of psychology 
fairly before us. We know the first elements of our 
mental constitution, and we know the primary laws by 
which mental development is carried forward. Our task 
will be to show how out of those elements, and by the 
action of these laws, the whole of our faculties are 
successively constructed. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE DOCTMNE OF INDIVIDUALITY. 



We have now gone through what are termed the 
primordial forms of our mental activity, that dim region 
which lies midway between nature and consciousness. 
Yet, dim as it is, there is no class of mental phenomena 
which bears so directly upon the essential nature of the 
soul, and none which unfolds to us so clearly the funda- 
mental laws of our mental activity. The facts which we 
have brought forward in connexion with vital, nervous, 
instinctive, and preconscious states of existence are, for 
the most part, fully admitted by psychologists of all 
classes ; the theories by which these facts are accounted 
for are various. 

The great point always to be aimed at in inductive 
investigations is, having discovered and marshalled the 
facts of the case, to determine the conception under 
which they are to be viewed, and by which they gain a 
sort of organic unity and self-consistency. We shall 
briefly notice four of such conceptions, all of which are 
now widely current throughout Europe, in different 
schools of philosophy. 

I. Eirst, then, we may notice the materialistic hypo- 
thesis, that which sums up all the facts of psychology 
under the general conception of their being simply func- 
tions of certain forms of organized matter. Materialism 
has, certainly, a kind of prima facie distinctness and intel- 
ligibility in its favour; but, in point of fact, if looked 



' THE DOCTRINE OF INDIVIDUALITY. 65 

at more closely, it simply resolves itself into a number 
of subordinate theories, none of which are very easy to 
carry out. Thus, one materialistic philosopher declares 
mind to be the result of certain particular forms of 
organization; another pronounces it to result from the 
commixture of various chemical or other substances ; a 
third takes refuge in electricity and magnetism, and 
considers the soul to be simply the electric or magnetic 
action of the brain and nervous system ; a fourth affirms 
that we have no good reason to pronounce it an impossi- 
bility that matter should be endowed directly with the 
power of thought, and so forth. It is of little use for us 
here to urge all the old spiritualistic arguments over again 
— that there is no compatibility between material and 
mental properties • that no anatomy or chemistry can 
carry up the changes of matter to the point where they 
are seen to pass over into forms of consciousness ; that 
matter is dead and inert, and that mind only is living and 
active ; and that the actual matter of the body changes 
many times, every atom of it, in the course of a life, 
without changing the personal identity, and so forth. 

All these are very true and very sound reiterations of 
the obvious fact, that we have naturally a distinct con- 
ception of two kinds of properties, the one material, the 
other spiritual, which no scientific witchcraft can weld 
together into one. Every fresh discovery made in the 
material conditions of thought is but another secondary 
cause, and does not aid us any the more to bridge over 
the gulf which lies between matter and consciousness. 

But, leaving all these arguments alone, there are two 
considerations which are wholly fatal to materialism as a 
theory; — 1. That no one knows what matter is, so that 
when we have succeeded in reducing mind to matter (if it 
were possible to do so), we are really no nearer to any valid 
solution of the difficulty of the case than we were before. 

e 



66 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

Matter, after all, may perhaps be reducible to force, and 
force to spirit, as its source and spring. 2. That the 
material forces from which mind is supposed to emanate 
are, as far as all our experience goes, uniform and constant 
in their operation, while, in every single mind, we have a 
separate and distinct individuality. How any combina- 
tion of chemical, electrical, or any other physical forces, 
passing through any conceivable kind of organic instru- 
mentality, could result in the infinite variations of human 
individuality, is quite beyond our powers of conception, 
and is alone sufficient to stamp the ordinary idea of 
materialism as being anything rather than adequate to 
sum up the facts of the case intelligibly into a scientific 
formula, and give them unity and order. We pass on, 
therefore, to 

II. The theory which regards mind as a special 
manifestation of the Absolute thought. All nature is 
full of design, and design implies thought or reason. 
Moreover, there is a fundamental unity between the 
designs and forms of nature and the laws of the human 
reason. Nature, for example, exhibits geometric prin- 
ciples in operation ; reason grasps them in the abstract. 
The geometry in both cases is fundamentally one and the 
same. What then, it might be said, do we mean by 
mind but a special adaptation of the Absolute thought of 
the universe, which, in man, comes at last to self-con- 
sciousness? No doubt a theory of this nature solves 
the difficulty of classing the vital and the mental forces 
under one grand category ; but here, again, the fact of 
individuality steps in as a disturbing element. Thought, it 
is said, is absolute ; if absolute, impersonal, and having no 
special relation to the individual. But what is the fact ? 
Laws of thought there are, it is true, in the abstract, 
but minds bear upon them the stamp, not of an abso- 
lute unity in the nature and procedure of their ideas, 



THE DOCTRINE OF INDIVIDUALITY. 67 

but of the most entire individuality. This individuality 
is impressed upon the whole person, upon his body, his 
mien, his language, his mental processes. Everything 
tends to show that there is a real, and not a sham indi- 
viduality at the basis of all this, and that the thought 
immanent in me, and you, and every one is far from being 
a mere wave in the ocean of infinite reason, welling up 
for a time, and then sinking down, to be for ever lost 
again in the ocean of the Absolute. TJiis is not a con- 
ception of the facts of the case which gives by any 
means a satisfactory interpretation of them. 

III. We may go then, thirdly, to the ordinary 
Dualistic Hypothesis, which is, that the mind and body 
are two wholly distinct existences, with a temporary and 
partial connexion, but still carrying on their respective 
functions quite independently of each other. The pri- 
mordial forms of mental activity which we have already 
considered are but little consistent with this view of the 
case. The connexion between the mind and the body, 
the impress which the one bears of the other, the con- 
stancy with which a mental translates itself into a 
physical fact, and vice versa, and, more than all, the 
complete correlation which can be proved to exist be- 
tween the vital, the nervous, and the mental forces, all 
present a series of difficulties which the ordinary dualistic 
hypothesis is quite unable to cope with and explain. The 
whole series of facts and observations, indeed, which we 
have brought forward in the last four chapters contain a 
detailed refutation of this hypothesis, and drive us 
necessarily onwards to find another and more fitting 
conception. Such a conception we appear to find, 

IV. In the Doctrine of Individualism. According to 
this doctrine, every man is made up of two elements, 
material and spiritual, which completely interpenetrate 
each other. Body and mind here stand to each other in 

f 2 



68 PRIMORDIAL FORMS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY. 

the relation of matter and form. The union of these two 
constitutes the individual — the personality ; and every 
individual takes his place in the whole plan of creation as 
an independent unit, having a real and essential existence 
of his own. In this conception of the individual, as 
being the realization of a positive spiritual existence 
within the conditions of time and space ; as presenting 
a complete interpenetration of the two elements, from 
the very first cell-germ, which contained the future man, 
up to his complete maturity ; and as involving a perfect 
unity of the vital and spiritual forces, viewed in their 
entire teleological activity ; in this conception, I say, the 
facts of the case are all summed up, at least in an intel- 
ligible manner, and the view really taken by the practical 
common-sense of mankind finds at the same time a 
scientific expression. 

Although, therefore, I do not wish to put this kind 
of theorizing on a level with the facts and laws of mind, 
of which we can assure ourselves with perfect scientific 
accuracy, yet I propose this doctrine of individuality as 
one which helps us to hold the phenomena together for 
the present, and as a theory which may be modified or 
perfected indefinitely by the course of future investiga- 
tion. 



PART II. 



NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OP PERCEPTION. 



CHAPTER I. 

ON SENSATION, PKOPEELY SO CALLED. 

We have already virtually learned in the preceding chap- 
ters what sensation is, and what is the physical process 
by which it is produced. We have seen that the nervous 
system possesses three principal centres of action ; that 
when an impulse derived from some external object only 
reaches the lowest, (i.e., the spinal cord,) and then reacts, 
it produces motion, without consciousness ; but that, if 
the impulse pass onward to the sensory ganglia at the 
base of the brain, consciousness is ordinarily awakened 
in connexion with the action and reaction which immedi- 
ately takes place. The consciousness, then, of any 
given nervous impression, thus originating, forms what 
we term a sensation. 

Sensation itself, accordingly, must be regarded as an 
ultimate and indecomposable fact, although the steps by 
which we arrive at it are manifold. Here are certain 
stimuli, which act upon us ab extra ; here is a nervous 
system, which receives them, and conveys them to one of 
the great centres of nerve-force • and here, thirdly, is a 
particular feeling produced in us as soon as the re- 
action from that centre sets in. This process, to judge 
by all appearances, takes place in the child the first hour 
after birth, and must be regarded, therefore, in all its 
essential requisites, as being virtually connate. 

We have hitherto spoken of nervous action and re- 
action, accompanied with consciousness, generally. The 



72 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

word sensation, by which we have now designated this 
consciousness, reminds us, however, that the one general 
fact above mentioned appears in a variety of different 
forms. The five senses, as they are usually termed, imply 
the consciousness of so many different varieties of 
nervous impulse, to which we are subjected, in connexion 
with different parts of the nervous system. These 
varieties are so great, and the difference in the states of 
consciousness so remarkable, that they would hardly 
seem at first to come at all under the same class of 
phenomena. It is only by a more accurate investigation 
of the nervous processes that they are seen to be merely 
different forms of the same general phenomenon. 

It has always been a puzzle amongst mental philo- 
sophers to understand hoiv it is that we can come to a 
consciousness of external objects at all. Theories without 
number have been formed, from the time of Plato down- 
wards, to bridge over the gulf which lies between matter 
and mind, between objects of sense around us and the 
fact of sensation within us. This chasm in our know- 
ledge we do not pretend wholly to fill. At the same 
time, so many facts bearing on the question have been 
brought to light by the progress of physical science on 
the one side, and by physiology on the other, and so 
much has been added by the mental analyst likewise 
from Ids point of view, that the distance between the 
world and our own consciousness has been vastly dimi- 
nished, and the mystery driven back to that one point 
of connexion between the brain and the human soul 
which no analysis appears likely fully to solve. Let us 
attempt, then, to strip away all that is mixed up with 
sensation naturally, and all that is added to it by our 
subsequent mental activity, so as to analyze the bare fact 
itself, and reduce it to its simplest elements. 

Looking to the physical and external parts of the 



ON SENSATION, PROPERLY SO CALLED. 73 

process, we must consider, first of all, what it is that the 
nerves convey from the world without to the mind within. 
Let us take, as an example, the sense of hearing, as pre- 
senting the greatest degree of simplicity. We know, from 
the investigations of physical science, that the sole medium 
of sound is the atmosphere. Where there is no atmo- 
sphere, there can be no sound ; and where the atmo- 
sphere is perfectly still, perfect silence is the necessary 
result. The real cause of sound, therefore, externally 
considered, is found in the motion of the atmosphere ; 
and the variations in the acuteness or gravity of sound 
arise from the greater or less rapidity of the oscillations. 
The deepest note which the human ear appears capable 
of perceiving as a continuous sound is that produced 
by sixteen oscillations in a second ; the acutest, that 
which is produced by about 48,000 oscillations in the 
same time. The differences in the quality of sounds 
arise in like manner from the peculiar way in which the 
atmosphere is affected by the object that sets it in motion, 
and the corresponding peculiarity of the waves that reach 
the ear. 

What we really sensize, therefore, through the ear, is 
simply the motion of the atmosphere and nothing more. 
The human ear is an apparatus beautifully formed for 
receiving the vibrations, on which all sound depends ; 
and the auditory nerve conveys them in some manner 
to the sensorium. As to the way in which this latter 
effect is brought about, we have as yet very little insight. 
The soft texture of the nerves, and the manner in which 
they are embedded in the surrounding materials, would 
naturally suggest a total inaptitude for propagating 
vibrations in the ordinary sense of that term. It seems 
more probable that the flow of life through the body is 
accompanied with a constant thrill and movement in 
every part of the nervous system, so that the outward 



74 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

oscillations do not so much give rise to wholly new 
vibrations, as enter into conflict with the nervous action 
already going on, and give it that peculiar determination 
which is necessary to create any given sensation in the 
mind. This is, perhaps, as far as it is possible to go in 
our analysis of the purely physical process. How the 
vibrations of the air come into conflict with the living 
thrill of the nerve, and how the result of this conflict 
reaches the mind, we are wholly unable to comprehend. 
It is one of those hidden secrets of nature which science 
has not yet been able to unfold. 

Turning from the sense of hearing to that of sight, a 
precisely similar analysis holds good. Here the vibrating 
medium is not the atmosphere, but a universally diffused 
ether, which is set in motion by what are termed 
luminous bodies. Just as atmospheric oscillations form 
the external cause, and sound the internal result, in the 
case of hearing ; so, in sight, the oscillations of the light- 
bearing ether form the outward condition, and colour, in 
all its various shades, the inward result. Here, accord- 
ingly, as before, it is simply motion in nature giving rise 
to motion in the nerve-world, with which we have imme- 
diately to do in vision ; while, to keep up the analogy, it 
is^ the difference in the rapidity of the oscillations that 
creates all the infinite variations of hue. The red rays, it is 
calculated, require 458 billions of oscillations in a second, 
the violet rays 727 billions, and all the other colours and 
shades of the spectrum some intermediate number. That 
the phenomena of sound and sight spring out of parti- 
cular states of the corresponding nerves is clear from 
the fact that pressure on the eye, or any artificial irrita- 
tion, produces the perception of light as strongly as the 
normal impulses derived from the vibrating ether, and 
that any artificial excitements of the auditory nerve will 
produce noise in the head. Ghost-seeing often arises in 



ON SENSATION, PROPERLY SO CALLED. 75 

the same way ; that is, when the conditions of sight are 
brought about by the nerves being affected through 
some other than the ordinary and legitimate stimuli. 
Whatever, in a word, can affect the regular vital move- 
ments of the nerves, and put them into a condition at all 
similar to that produced by the proper external stimuli, 
will bring about similar phenomena of consciousness. 

We come next to the sense of feeling. This sense 
comprehends two apparently distinct series of sensations ; 
namely, those of touch, properly so called, and those of 
heat. With regard to the latter, it has been pretty well 
established that the phenomena of heat are formed by the 
oscillations of a subtile fluid similar to that of light. 
The sensation of heat, therefore, may be brought under 
the law of motion just as much as that of sight or hearing, 
and may be regarded as in every respect analogous. The 
phenomena of touch are produced by impact in various 
ways < and it is just in accordance with the nature of 
that impact, whether harder or softer, more rapid or 
more slow, that the resulting sensations are determined. 
A blow is a sudden affection produced by the rapid 
motion of some object against a considerable surface 
of the body. Pressure is a more continuous affection of 
the same kind. A prick is the motion of some object 
against one minute point of the skin. If the act of 
pricking be repeated rapidly, it produces a feeling of 
burning, and, if it be very soft at the same time, of 
itching. An extremely light and gentle motion over the 
surface of the body produces tickling. In every instance, 
the peculiar kind of sensation is determined by the 
nature of the motion and the consequent impact. 

What is called the muscular sense, we shall show here- 
after, does not belong to the category of sensation at all, 
but to that of perception. The only two senses left, 
accordingly, are those of taste and smell. In both these 



76 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

cases the process by which the nerves are affected is of a 
chemical nature. The substances received upon the 
surface of the tongue or the internal membrane of the 
nostril are subjected to the action of saliva or mucus, 
and, being thus dissolved, produce a chemical action on 
the nerves, which gives rise to the phenomena of taste 
and smell. All chemical action arises, however, from 
certain relative movements in the ultimate atoms ; and it 
is these movements which, in the case of taste and smell, 
really give rise to the peculiar sensations so designated. 
One striking proof of this fact is, that a similar atomic 
action can be produced by magnetism, and that various 
tastes, particularly that of phosphorus, can be produced 
by the introduction of magnetic plates into the mouth ; 
thus most obviously showing that the phenomena of taste 
are really produced, like those of heat, by the motion of 
certain minute particles, whether of some magnetic fluid, 
or of anything else, when subjected to chemical action. 
By these atomic movements the nerves are affected, just 
as they are affected by the infinitesimal oscillations of 
light and heat ; so that the same law holds good through- 
out, and enables us to connect the phenomena of sensa- 
tion universally with motion, as its immediate external 
antecedent and internal concomitant. 

Looking now from the physical side of sensation to 
the mental we shall find that the view we have just taken 
solves or dissipates many of the difficulties in which the 
question has always seemed to be involved. First of all, 
it makes the external cause, and the effect upon the 
nervous system quite homogeneous. Outward motion is 
the cause, inward motion is the effect. Instead of 
having the solid forms of the outward world standing, 
as it were, face to face with the nervous energy, and 
being obliged to consider how it is possible for two 
things so entirely heterogeneous to come into so close a 



ON SENSATION, PROPERLY SO CALLED. 77 

state of mental action and reaction, we have now the 
whole problem reduced to two developments of motion ; 
first, motion in the fluids around us ; and, secondly, a 
certain determination given, by their means, to the 
atomic movements or vibrations of the nerves. How 
the movements of the nerve-force are converted into 
those of mind-force we cannot say, any more than we 
can explain how it is that mechanical motion is con- 
verted into heat, or vice versa. But the outward pheno- 
mena are traced in the way we have now indicated, as 
far back to the inward consciousness as seems possible, 
without breaking through the last film of separation 
that divides the conscious from the unconscious world. 

Secondly, the theory we have propounded enables us 
to draw a clear line of separation between sensation, pro- 
perly so called, and all the subsequent mental phenomena 
which attach themselves to it. Thus, taking the sense 
of hearing, we can now easily strip away every possible 
association which connects itself with what we hear, and 
understand that the sensation of hearing per se simply 
implies the nervous effect of certain atmospheric vibra- 
tions and nothing more. Taking the sense of sight we 
can at once negative the possibility of sensizing shape, 
size, thickness, distance, or any other of the properties 
of bodies ; all we see sensationally is colour, as being the 
direct result in the consciousness of the luminous vibra- 
tions which affect the optic nerve. And so in like 
manner does every sense confine itself to one single and 
peculiar series of phenomena, which are not by any 
means to be confounded with the mental acts and asso- 
ciations afterwards connected with them. 

Thirdly, the same theory introduces unity into the 
entire sphere of sensational phenomena. The whole of 
these phenomena are reduced to the single principle of 
motion, as the invariable antecedent, — this motion, as it 



78 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE PERCEPTION. 

exists in external nature, exciting a corresponding action 
in the nerves, and then, through the nerve-force, affect- 
ing the mind. 

Thus, then, we find, by the combined aid of physics 
and physiology, that man possesses a nervous system, 
pervaded by a force which can pass freely from every 
point in the human system to the centre, and from the 
centre to every point in the circumference ; that he is 
placed in a universe palpitating with countless millions 
of vibrations, of which vibrations the nerves of the 
different sense-organs are directly susceptible ; that the 
whole connexion which the mind has or can possibly have 
with the external world is formed either by the motion of 
the fluids around us, or by the motion of the particles of 
bodies that come into chemical contact with the nerves ; 
that the material universe, therefore, makes itself known 
to us entirely through the medium of motion ; that this 
motion expresses itself in the nervous system by modi- 
fying the regular vital action which is always going on 
there; and lastly, that this modification of the nerve- 
force manifests itself to our consciousness in the varied 
phenomena of what we term sensation. Thus the 
world communicates with the consciousness wholly 
through motion as the link ; and out of the experiences 
thus formed our whole intelligence, by means of pro- 
cesses we have yet to consider, is subsequently developed. 
Prom the foregoing explanations of the nature and origin 
of sensation the following deductions may be made. 

1st. That both the quantity and the quality of the 
nervous affection, as well as its influence upon the con- 
sciousness, vary on the one hand according to the object 
that acts upon us, and on the other hand according to 
the structure and susceptibility of the particular nerves 
affected. Some nerves are naturally far more suscepti- 
ble than others; and some objects again are far more 



ON SENSATION, PROPERLY SO CALLED. 79 

calculated to excite theni than are other objects. One 
object, for example, will influence the nerves by a 
mechanical impulse, as when we receive a blow ; another 
by a chemical affection, as in the sensation of taste or 
smell ; a third by means of infinitesimal vibrations, as 
in hearing or sight. In each case there will be a 
different effect produced upon the sentient soul arising 
from two causes, i.e., primarily, from the structure of 
the nerves ; and secondarily, from the object affecting 
them. 2. The more perfect and delicate the organ the 
less impulse is required from without to excite it, in 
order that it may perform its normal functions. The 
eye and the ear, for example, which are the most perfect 
and delicate portions of the sensational apparatus, are 
roused into action by the impact of the finest vibrations ; 
while portions of the body, with a less sum of vitality in 
them, require forcible excitement to make them operate 
at all consciously upon the mind. 3. There are many 
peculiar impulses, which are suited to particular nerves, 
and which have no effect upon any others. Light, e.g., 
affects the optic nerve, and the vibration of the air the 
auditory : but light has no effect upon the ear, and the 
vibrations of the atmosphere have none upon the eye. 
4. The susceptibility of the nerves is greatly modified 
by the external impulses which habitually act upon 
them. If a nerve be subjected to constant and violent 
excitement it becomes gradually duller, until its sensi- 
tiveness is wholly lost ; on the contrary, regular excite- 
ment at proper intervals, and moderate in degree, 
increases the power and susceptibility of the nerves, 
and renders them more vigorous in the exercise of their 
appropriate functions. Thus, continued gazing, with an 
intensity of light, will destroy the power of vision, while 
by regular exercise the clearness of sight becomes greater 
and greater. 



80 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE PERCEPTION. 

These conclusions may serve as hints for the early 
education of the senses. They show us (1) that car.e 
ought to be taken not to overtax the organs ; (2) that 
regular exercise should be provided for them ; and (3) 
that natural and legitimate stimuli should, as far as 
possible, be encouraged. In this way the eye, the ear, 
the hand, the palate, and the nostrils, may assume a 
delicacy in their sensational power which would only be 
destroyed by harsh and unnatural excitations. 



CHAPTER U. 

ON PERCEPTION. 

In the last Chapter we have described, generally, the 
manner in which the first crude material of our know- 
ledge is drawn from the external world and brought into 
contact with the mind. The name we give to this whole 
process is Sensation. Sensation, however, taken alone, 
is not knowledge ; is not even experience. All that it 
indicates is a particular mental state subjectively con- 
sidered ; and all that any number of sensations (inde- 
pendently of some subsequent mental activity) could 
indicate, would be a succession of isolated mental feel- 
ings, having no connexion with each other, and leading, 
consequently, to no kind of intelligence or knowledge. 
The next thing we have to do, therefore, is to see how 
the mind comes to recognise the material furnished by 
the senses ; how it comes to grasp and comprehend it ; 
how it consolidates it into a connected whole ; how it 
co-ordinates one portion with another ; and, finally, con- 
structs out of it an entire body of actual experience. 
This whole sphere of mental activity we term perception ; 
and it will be at once evident, that it is not one special 
and peculiar faculty to which we give tbis name, but the 
entire activity of the mind as employed, at this particular 
era of its development, on the special work of interpreting 
the primary intimations of the senses. 

Chronologically considered, sensation and perception 
can hardly be separated, inasmuch as we begin to com- 

G 



82 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

pare and interpret our sensations, in a certain way, from 
the very first moment that we possess them. But, 
logically speaking, the two are perfectly distinct, and 
indicate quite different sides of the same general fact. 
Sensation only brings the various changes, produced 
upon the nerves by external stimuli, home to the con- 
sciousness ; perception includes all the mental action 
which takes place as the direct result of those changes. 
We cannot say that perception begins with the first 
sensation in our life's history, for one single inward state 
of consciousness could never provoke mental reaction at 
all ; but it begins with the first change of state — the first 
instance in which the mind passes over from one con- 
sciousness to another. Prom this first change of state 
our conscious intellectual development takes its start, 
and the whole intellect afterwards builds itself up by 
single steps, each relatively as minute as are the cell- 
formations which go to form the tissues of the whole 
body. 

To analyze this primary step a little more closely, let 
us first imagine the mind existing in a given sensational 
state, A. So long as this state continues wholly un- 
changed, no mental action is excited. But a second 
sensational state, B, is now produced, and a complex 
effect will result. The original sensation A had been 
preceded by certain vibrations in the nerves; these 
vibrations had been succeeded by some change in the 
tissues of the central organ, and that change, again, had 
occasioned a given mental condition termed a sensation. 
A second sensational impulse B was then produced; 
i. e., a new vibration passed through the nerves, a new 
change took place in the tissue, and a new sensational 
state ensued. An important question, then, now arises, 
namely, What has become of the first sensation A, while 
the mind is occupying itself with the second B ? The 



ON PERCEPTION. 83 

primary sensation is not entirely obliterated j so far 
from that, its effect continues even while the conscious- 
ness is engaged with the new phenomenon, B. This 
new phenomenon we thus see to be really a complex 
result, in which the experience of the first sensation 
is blended with that of the second, and a given mental 
effect is produced, that differs materially from either of 
the two sensations, taken separately and by themselves. 
The co-existence of the two mental changes, in fact, gives 
the first conditions on which an elementary and instinct- 
ive act of separation and comparison can be instituted ; 
and this act forms the first fink in the whole vast chain 
of mental development which ensues. 

Every succeeding act of our mind's development is 
only a more progressive act of separation and com- 
parison — a new application of the fundamental law 
of mind already explained ; and the growth of mind as 
much results from the network of experience, thus woven 
together, as does the growth of the body from the pro- 
gressive construction of organized tissue. The adding of 
one mental fact to another is, in truth, closely analogous 
to the addition of one cell to another, as ^shown in 
the researches of histology. Just as the single cell, 
from which tli'- whole tissue proceeds, adds, when 
brought into contact with the proper stimuli, a second 
cell to the first by virtue of an inherent law of develop- 
ment, so, when a second sensation is added to the first, 
there is a definite step taken in the process of mind- 
formation by means of the mental eel, which the con- 
scious co-existence of the two sensations involves. The 
physical process terminating in a state of passive feeling 
is all tint we include under the term sensation ; tin; 
mental activity which commences the dkhih nt a second 

state of consciousness is experi need is the first >t ( p 
in the development of perception. Perception is, there- 



84 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

fore, nothing more or less than the first effort of the 
mind after knowledge ; and the laws of perception, 
we shall find, are, strictly speaking, the same as the laws 
of thought, although seen upon a more primitive and 
elementary sphere of action. 

The difference between sensation and perception, 
however, may be also established on purely physiological 
grounds, as the one is connected mainly with the nerves 
of sensation, the other with the nerves of motion. The 
motor nerves form, as it were, the organs by which the 
mind inquires of the world without. The moment any 
new sensation reaches the consciousness, a reaction takes 
place, which passes along the motor tracts towards the 
spot from which the affection arises. Thus, as it is by 
motion, on the one hand, that sensation is produced, so 
it is by a reactionary motion, on the other, that the pro- 
cess of perception is carried on. For example, it is 
by the motion of the eye that we are enabled to traverse 
the field of space presented to it ; and it is in like 
manner by the motion of the hand that we judge of most 
of the qualities of material objects. In every case 
alike, it is along the nerves of motion that the perceptive 
activity travels, in order to make its inquiries respecting 
the cause of its sensations, and to gain their proper 
interpretation. 

It will be readily understood from what w T e have now 
said, that the process of perception must be a very com- 
plicated one, much more so than most mental analysts 
have been willing to admit. It is, of course, much 
easier for the mental philosopher to cut the whole knot 
asunder at once by means of a theory, than to trace, step 
by step, the growth and completion of our perceptive 
life ; but we should not be advancing any further on 
the road towards a valid psychology by merely con- 
tinuing to theorize on questions of this nature. 



ON PERCEPTION. 85 

The idealist, e.g., refers the whole work of construct- 
ing a complete knowledge of the imiverse around us to 
the inherent powers of the mind itself, independently of 
any external experiences whatever ; but he can never, by 
means of his theory, override the natural realism of man- 
kind. The doctrine of occasional causes brings in the 
intervention of the Deity as a link between the soul and 
the world : but this is merely a " Deus ex machina," 
introduced to save the trouble and obviate the necessity 
of analysis. The sensationalist goes to the other 
extreme, and regards our perceptions as simply impres- 
sions of external things made upon the mind through 
the organs of sense. But this view is wholly incon- 
sistent with the plain fact of our perceptions being 
gradually acquired, and is altogether irreconcilable with 
the fundamental difference that exists between material 
objects and mental phenomena. The school of Reid is 
contented with resting upon a fundamental belief, and 
appeals to the common sense of mankind for the objective 
validity of our sense-perceptions. This, it is true, may 
be a very good answer to the question, why we always 
act in the world as natural realists; but it contains 
no philosophical analysis of perception, and totally fails 
to do what all true philosophy proposes — namely, to 
make us compreJiend what we already see and be- 
lieve in. 

By keeping our eye away from all these theories, and 
steadily fixed upon the facts of the case, we shall be 
enabled to understand what elements every act of per- 
ception really involves, and how it becomes more and 
more complicated with every fresh experience we 
attain. Let us attempt to trace these steps from the 
commencement, 

To perceive a thing means, first of all, to recognise it. 
A single sensation, as I before showed, would not 



86 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

awaken any mental activity — any perceptive effort. If 
other sensations succeed, and the perceptive activity 
is awakened, all that we mean when we speak of per- 
ceiving any of these sensational phenomena is, that 
we recognise them as being more or less similar to what 
w T e have experienced before. The very first act of per- 
ception thns implies a latent process of separation and 
comparison, without which, indeed, the mind would 
simply be buried in its own subjective and momentary 
feeling. 

When we come to perceive special objects, then, it is 
implied that we not only recognise, but that we also 
begin to classify them. Take the most insignificant 
object possible — say a small pebble from the road-side. 
In walking along we see hundreds and thousands of 
such pebbles without attending to our sensations — i.e., 
without perceiving them at all. If we now direct our 
attention to any one of them, and perceive it, this simple 
act implies that we recognise it as something like what 
we have already seen, and that, consequently, an implicit 
act of classification has already been performed. Of 
course, the fact of our being able to classify any special 
object implies a considerable accumulation of former 
experiences. Such experiences must exist before the 
qualities even of the simplest thing imaginable could be 
made the object of attention, and become the ground of 
a distinct classification. 

If we take a more complex object — say an orange or 
an apple — then the fact of perception implies a much 
greater co-ordination of experiences. Here we have 
a certain form, a certain colour, a certain smelly a certain 
organic type, all combined ir one whole. The primary 
sensations which one apple produces may be very 
different from another. One may be large, another 
small ; one red, another yellow, and so forth ; but still 



ON PERCEPTION. 87 

the mind, in the act of perceiving, classifies each cor- 
rectly according to certain typal resemblances, which 
agree with its former experience. Leave out one of the 
essential attributes, and, though the general appearance 
may be extremely similar to other apples, the mind 
would not perceive it, as such, but would at once vary 
the classification. When we come to landscapes, or 
large objects, such as a church, a palace, or a mountain, 
then all the acquired judgments we have formed upon 
colour, distance, size, &c, enter into every simple act 
of perception. If, in addition to all this, we have a 
movement of the parts, as when we watch a game 
of cricket or the progress of a quadrille, then a new set 
of relations comes into play, and requires a most compli- 
cated co-ordination of the parts before we comprehend 
the whole. 

These acts of the mind are performed by habit so 
rapidly that we do not notice the process, but pass on at 
once from the sensation to the final result. What we 
have said may be sufficient, however, to show that 
perception, instead of being a simple act of mind, is a 
most complicated series of acts, involving recognition, 
classification, co-ordination of parts, comparison of re- 
lations, and the combination of the whole into definite 
and instantaneous judgments, which are, for the most 
part, an infallible interpretation of the sensations actu- 
ally presented to us. We are brought, therefore, neces- 
sarily, to this view of the case, — that all percep- 
tions are really acquired perceptions ; and that, from 
the very first experience we enjoy upwards, there is a 
perpetual series of mental acts each moment going 
forward, which (to speak metaphorically) form the 
cellular tissue of the mind, and gradually consolidate 
into the higher forms of perceptive power. In giving this 
view of our mental development we are by no means 



88 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

adapting a purely experience-principle in relation to our 
ideas. Just as in the first cell-germ of the body there is 
contained potentially a nature which gives a necessary 
form and character to the whole succeeding structure, so, 
also, in the very first germ of mind, there is contained a 
certain mental type, which evolves, of necessity, certain 
faculties, and, in connexion with those faculties, certain 
ideas. It is no more true, however, to say that these 
ideas are innate, than it is true to say that the embryonic 
germ of the body has all the limbs and organs of the 
future man born with it. The one as much as the other, 
is a development, carried on, indeed, by means of ex- 
ternal stimuli, but following the necessary typal laws 
impressed upon it from its first entrance into the con- 
dition of time and space. 

After this general view of the nature and genesis 
of perception, we shall be better prepared to enter 
more fully into the details, and attempt to trace, step by 
step, the gradual construction and final completion of 
the perceptive power. 



CHAPTER III. ' 

INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF OUR PERCEPTIONS. 



Let us begin our detailed exposition of the mode in 
which the perceptive power is originated by a re-state- 
ment of the point of view from which we start. Our 
position is this ■ — That just as the primary germ of the 
material organization does not possess bodily organs, but 
simply a nature, which, in the process of development, 
necessarily creates them, — so the mind, at birth, does not 
possess either ideas or faculties, but only a germinal 
nature, which, as it is evolved by means of outward 
stimuli, brings them certainly and surely into being. 

As we have no memory reaching back to this period, 
and as the growth of our perceptive power is so early and 
so unconscious, we find it difficult to imagine a mental 
condition in which perception does not already exist in 
some more or less developed form. This difficulty can, 
however, be partly removed by close observation upon 
cases in which the perceptive power is contravened in its 
growth by certain physical defects. Amongst such cases 
we can reckon all those who are born blind. To us it 
seems impossible not to have the power of perceiving by 
the eye the size, the distance, the form, &c, of the 
various objects around us. From actual examples we 
know, however, that a person who suddenly receives his 
sight, after having been blind all his life, gains no idea 
whatever of these relations from the actual phenomena pre- 
sented to him. All he sees is a mass of colouring, which 



90 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

appears to touch the eye ; and it requires a long lesson in 
the school of experience before his judgment is enabled 
to interpret the varied colours presented into terms of 
distance, size, form, and solidity. It is evident, there- 
fore, that all these perceptions, at least, are acquired 
ones. 

Similar experiments may be made with persons of 
defective brains. While every purely instinctive act is 
often performed by them with the greatest energy, it not 
unfrequently happens that the perceptions remain dull 
from want of mental power sufficient to learn the daily 
lessons which experience ordinarily teaches. From this 
we conclude that the power of perception comes within 
that region of intelligence, which has to be unfolded by 
time and experience, rather than that of the instincts, 
which show something like perfection from their very 
first appearance. 

Facts such as those now referred to, then, give us 
ample reason for believing that the first perceptive 
impressions of infancy must be weak, dim, and inde- 
terminate. Sensations, indeed, pour in upon the soul, 
through all its five windows, but it is only very gradu- 
ally that they can produce strong and vivid perceptions. 
In considering the mode by which the power of clear 
and vivid perception grows and matures, the first point 
to which we look, as containing the primary condition of 
all mental development, is the persistency and inde- 
structibility of our perceptive impressions. 

The notion which has very generally been entertained 
of the nervous system in connexion with the mind is 
this — that it is a wonderfully formed instrument, which 
can be directly acted upon by external things ; that 
every impression it receives is faithfully transmitted to 
the sensorium ; and that we may thus be made the 
subjects of any number of mental phenomena, which 



INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF OUR PERCEPTIONS. 91 

come and go, and leave no abiding trace behind them. 
Now, this is not by any means a correct apprehension 
of the case. An impression made upon the nervous 
system is not merely conveyed along it, as by an instru- 
ment or organ, but occasions a permanent change in the 
cerebral structure. This permanent change, moreover, 
stands parallel with a similar effect that is wrought upon 
the mind, whatever we choose to mean by that term. 
Accordingly, every nervous impulse, instead of being a 
momentary phenomenon, which comes and goes, is a 
fact, which leaves a lasting result behind it ; and every 
individual perception arising out of it, instead of being 
an evanescent mental experience, is something definitely 
added to the former stock of experience, and remains as 
such in perpetuity. That a perception continues to 
exist in the consciousness is manifestly not the case ; but 
still it remains tacitly in the mind, in such sense, that 
it may again be brought back into consciousness by any 
sufficiently active suggestion. 

Thus, we have every reason to believe that mental 
power, when once called forth, follows the analogy of 
everything we see in the material universe, in the fact of 
its perpetuity. No atom of matter, when once created, 
can ever, in the material order of things, be destroyed. 
It may change its form to any extent, but can never 
perish. No particle of physical force, when once 
exerted, is ever lost. It, too, may undergo unending 
transformations, but, in some sense, it always continues 
to exist. And so it is within the sphere of mental 
phenomena. Every single effort of mind is a creation, 
which can never go back again into nonentity. It may 
slumber in the depths of forgetfulness, as light and heat 
slumber in the coal-seams, but there it is, ready, at the 
bidding of some appropriate stimulus, to come again out 
of the darkness into the light of consciousness. 



92 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

The facts on which our belief in the persistency and 
indestructibility of all perceptive impressions rests are 
numerous. The power of memory assures us, first of 
all, that, when an impression has passed through the 
mind, it can remain there, whether within or without 
the range of consciousness, for an indefinite period. 
The ordinary expectation of mankind is, that such an 
impression, within certain limits, will remain ; for all 
the business of human life rests on the faith of memory 
as a safe and sure repository of facts, while the want of 
it betokens a mental defect, tending towards imbecility. 

Notwithstanding this, we know that impressions do 
fade from the memory, and apparently pass away alto- 
gether ; and this appears, at first sight, to militate against 
the idea of their indestructibility. When we attend 
closely to the phenomena of the case, we find, however, 
that impressions are perpetually reviving which we be- 
lieved had gone for ever. If we pass by a road, for 
example, which we had travelled many years ago, we 
experience a renewal of multitudes of perceptions, even of 
the most insignificant kind, which we had never thought 
of since, but which now, by the spell of association, rush 
once again into consciousness. Old people usually expe- 
rience a renewal of their earliest boyish scenes and feel- 
ings, which had, perhaps, lain dormant during the whole 
course of their active life. Cases in plenty are to be 
found in books of mental pathology, in which persons 
labouring under fever, and certain cerebral diseases, 
experience a wonderful reviviscence of memory, such as 
the power of speaking languages which they had long 
entirely forgotten. All these facts go far to support the 
theory of the indestructibility of mental power, and 
enable us, with some confidence, to extend the law which 
pervades the world of matter and force to the world of 
mind as well* 



INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF OUR PERCEPTIONS. 93 

Every act of perception, viewed in this light, is to the 
mind exactly what a single cell is in the formation of the 
bodily tissues. It is, if we may so term it, a minute 
vesicle, which remains in the tissue of consciousness, and 
must be so far indestructible, that it goes to build up our 
whole personality, and enters as an atom into the 
structure which determines the entire character and 
capability of the individual. When we consider that such 
impressions begin with the very dawn of our existence, 
that they continue to pour in upon the mind through all 
the avenues of sense, and that every one leaves its trace 
behind, and adds something permanent to the actual 
mass of our experience, we may easily conceive how 
rapidly the perceptive power grows and expands even in 
the very earliest years of childhood. The analogy, in 
fact, between the formation of the bodily organs, and the 
mental capacities, remains in this particular as in the 
others to which we have before alluded, quite complete. 

The question which next presents itself to us is a 
most important one. We know that when a definite 
mental experience has been gained, and then passes away 
from the consciousness, it may again be brought to light 
by means of any strong association. This being the case, 
it is evident that something must remain behind, which 
represents this experience, when out of consciousness ; 
that there must be residua left in the structure of the 
nerves, or the soul — or both, which ensure the possibility 
of reminiscence ; that the basis of every idea we have 
possessed must really continue to exist within us ; and 
that these relics, whatever they be, form a very legitimate 
object of psychological inquiry. This is the precise 
point, accordingly, to which we must next direct our 
attention. 



CHAPTER IV. 

ON THE NATURE OF KESIDUA. 

If the question were definitely put, What are residua ? 
we confess our incapability to give a complete answer, 
without, at least, implying some theory of mind which 
we are as yet unprepared wholly to support. If we 
were to look merely to the physical side of the question, 
and say, " By residua we mean certain permanent changes 
" which are made in connexion with every mental effort in 
" the substance of the brain ; certain cells added to the 
" texture, which ever afterwards remain there as the mate- 
" rial representatives of our ideas ; " this would explain 
nothing at all of what takes place within the sphere of 
the consciousness. Neither is sufficient yet known of 
what goes on in the substance of the brain for us to make 
any such affirmations, except as a mere provisional hypo- 
thesis. 

If we were, on the other hand, to look to the purely 
spiritual side of the question, and describe residua as 
certain traces left upon the soul, which may be revived 
by the proper stimuli, this would throw no light on the 
subject either. We know nothing of the mind, ontolo- 
gically speaking, and can only be considered as employing 
terms theoretically whenever we use the phraseology of 
substance and attribute in reference to it. 

All that remains for us to do is to look at the question 
phenomenally, and to leave all mental theories for the pre- 
sent in abeyance. The phenomena of the case, briefly 



ON THE NATURE OF RESIDUA. 95 

restated, are these : — When a given mental impression is 
produced upon us, it remains for a time before the con- 
sciousness, and then gives way to others. We know, 
however, that it is not absolutely lost ; for, if the proper 
conditions recur, the impression is renewed. The con- 
clusion is, that there must be something deposited within 
us which subsists permanently, and which is equally there, 
whether it be at any moment the immediate object of 
our consciousness or not. This something, then, we term 
a residuum, using that expression, it will be observed, 
without implying any theory on the subject whatever. 

It may aid us in understanding something more of the 
psychology of residua if we look at some peculiar 
instances which illustrate the existence of mental im- 
pressions apart from consciousness. Let us take a few 
cases, which every one's observation will be able to verify. 
It happens not unfrequently that the name of a parti- 
cular person is mentioned, whom we know that we have 
before seen, whom we are sure we should recognise 
again, but whom we cannot now distinctly recal. The 
personality, as a whole, is known to us ; i. e., his name 
and general individuality ; but we cannot remember the 
details. On what, then, is our conviction based, that we 
only need to have the person presented to us in order to 
produce instant recognition ? Clearly on the supposition 
— nay, the certainty — that the former traces still exist 
within the mind, and that they may any day be re- 
awakened, so soon as ever the right spring of association 
is touched. 

Again, to take another kind of instance : when a 
person speaks too gently, we often ask him to repeat 
what he has said ; but, before the repetition is made, we 
come to the full perception of it, from the first utterance, 
without needing a second at all. In like manner, after 
writing an exercise or a letter, we sometimes wake up to 



96 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

the consciousness, even a day or two after, that there is 
some mistake made, of which we were wholly uncon- 
scious at the time of writing. Numerous little facts of 
this nature show us that we experience many mental im- 
pressions which do not at the time enter into the con- 
sciousness. That they really reach the mind is evident, 
or they would never afterwards appear as elements of 
consciousness. The sentence, which we wish repeated, 
must have really been heard, and the mistake which we 
discover some days after it has been made, must have 
really entered the mind tacitly at the time of writing it. 
Both cases, therefore, seem to confirm the truth of the 
fact above mentioned, namely, that perceptions and ideas 
may exist either within or without the consciousness ; 
nay, that they may be actually acquired unconsciously as 
mental impressions, and still may only become known 
and recognised afterwards. 

Indeed, we may trace the same general fact through 
all the grades of our mental development. Instinctive 
actions are all based upon unconscious ideas, and have 
on that account been often attributed to a direct impulse 
of the Divine reason ; actions which become perfectly 
habitual are constantly performed under the guidance of 
mental impressions, without our knowing it, until after 
they are completed ; what is termed common sense is 
nothing but a substratum of experiences, out of which 
our judgments flow, while the experiences themselves 
are hidden away in the unconscious depths of our intel- 
lectual nature, and even the flow of public opinion is 
formed by ideas which lie tacitly in the national mind, 
and come into consciousness generally a long time after 
they have been really operating and shaping the course 
of events in human history. 

The fact, then, of the real existence of residua, con- 
sidered as a phenomenon of our mental life, cannot be 



ON THE NATURE OF RESIDUA. 97 

doubted. The question now is, in what exact light are 
we to view this fact] We cannot suppose that these 
residua are ever present to the mind as materials of 
perception, to which we can at pleasure turn our atten- 
tion ; neither can we suppose that they are powers 
of mind which can be exercised, like any other powers, 
by an effort of the will. The most correct point of 
view, I believe, is this — that every mental act which we 
perform leaves behind it in the entire constitution of the 
man, both physical and mental, a tendency or disposition 
to recur. Every time that this recurrence takes place 
the tendency in question becomes stronger, and the 
links of association more widely extended. A percep- 
tion which we have experienced only once, may never 
have the opportunity of reappearing in the light of con- 
sciousness. If we have had it twice, the chances of its 
doing so will be doubled ; and just in proportion to the 
number of times that it has come up before our atten- 
tion will the disposition or tendency to recurrence, 
cceteris paribus, become stronger. 

In this way it is that we acquire a very strong power 
of perception in some particular spheres of observation, 
while the power remains equally weak in others ; for, 
wherever the mental acts have been repeated the most 
frequently, the mental dispositions will become the most 
active, and the perceptive power will consequently be 
the most perfectly developed. Every man becomes 
quick of perception in his own particular business ; for it 
is exactly here that he is constantly accumulating 
residua, and increasing the facility with which his 
perceptions are awakened. The case is precisely ana- 
logous with any given kind of action which is at first 
extremely difficult, but which becomes more and more 
easy to repeat, until we can do it as a habit, without the 
least forethought or attention. The tendency to recur 

H 



98 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

in exact proportion to the number of former repetitions — 
is a law which equally holds good in the sphere of our 
intellectual and of our active powers. 

Without determining, then, what is the exact physical 
trace which is left in the substance of the nerves — 
without determining, either, what is the nature of the 
mental impression which remains behind when a given 
perception sinks out of immediate consciousness — this we 
can at all events affirm, that dispositions or tendencies 
towards certain ideas and activities are constantly 
forming, and, in proportion to the frequency of their 
recurrence, are intensifying the force with which they 
press forward again into the light of consciousness. 

The importance of this question educationally can 
hardly be overstated. If we really hold here in our 
hand the laio by which our primary intellectual ten- 
dencies, dispositions, and faculties are created, then the 
work of the educator, so far as the perceptive faculty 
goes, is obvious. We learn from our perceptions exactly 
what the mind is trained to learn. A philosophical 
observer will see a thousand significant facts in the 
course of his daily experience which a careless' observer 
will not see at all. A virtuous mind will pass through 
scenes of vice without ever being tainted by them, just 
because there are no mental residua with which those 
scenes have any affinity. A vicious nature, on the con- 
trary, will discover food for its evil propensities where, 
to other dispositions, nothing but what is right and pure 
is manifest. 

The educator has great power to regulate these dispo- 
sitions, and should act accordingly. He must see that 
the right perceptions are awakened by right examples, 
that correct habits of observation are formed, that 
mental residua are accumulated from the earliest dawn 
of reason, which shall turn the mental tendencies into 



ON THE NATURE OF RESIDUA. 99 

the paths of right thinking and right conduct. It 
depends almost entirely upon this kind of perceptive 
and moral training what lessons are afterwards learned 
in the school of nature and human life. A fatal facility 
towards the reproduction of any kind of false or wrong 
ideas, when once formed, can never be eradicated, The 
only chance of antagonizing it is by attempting to accu- 
mulate stronger tendencies of another character. So, 
likewise, we may be certain that any disposition to 
right-thinking which may be once formed, and the 
residua of which exist in the mind, will never be lost. 
Though overgrown by evil, the springs are there, 
and may be touched when least expected. As we only 
observe in the course of our life's experience that which 
has already some affinities within ourselves, no pains can 
be too great to give in early life a right turn to our 
powers of observation, so that they may daily increase in 
strength by repetition, until they form and determine 
the character. 



h 2 



CHAPTER V. 

LAW OF SIMILARITY. 

We now come to explain by far the most important law 
which exists in connexion with the nature and structure 
of the perceptive faculty. We have seen already that to 
be conscious of a thing, it must be perceived as different 
from everything else. Each individual object of our 
perception must stand out as being distinct from the 
objects of those mental experiences which respectively 
precede and succeed it ; otherwise, it cannot be rioted as 
a distinct thing, but would merge into the other percep- 
tions which, in the order of time, are connected with it. 
A moment's consideration, however, is sufficient to show 
us that we are every day in the habit of perceiving 
whole classes of objects, such as leaves, insects, animals, 
Jtowers, which are so like one to another, that we are 
unable, without minute attention, to perceive any differ- 
ence between them. Each one of these objects, however, 
having been perceived, must of necessity (according to 
the doctrine of the last chapter) leave its trace, or 
residuum, behind it. Here is a case, accordingly, in 
which we have an indefinite number of nearly identical 
residua laid up within the mind. The very similarity of 
the objects would naturally prevent the perception of 
each from being vivid or definite, and the corresponding 
residua must accordingly be proportionally weak and 
vague. The result of this would at first appear to be, 
to make our mental experiences extremely dim and 



LAW OF SIMILARITY. 101 

unsatisfactory, and thus to complicate our knowledge of 
external things almost ad infinitum. 

To prevent this, we find that there is a law of mind 
operating from the very earliest periods of our conscious 
being, by virtue of which identical and similar residua 
blend together, so that one single mental image is formed 
out of the whole. 

To see the working of this law in its most elementary 
form, hold up a small object, such as a pencil, and look 
at it with one eye. Then close that eye, and look at it 
with the other. You find, as the result of this experi- 
ment, that you have two distinct images of the object 
presented to you, and that these two images occupy 
different positions in space. The two perceptions, how- 
ever, when looked at together, blend into one, and the 
object, which is really seen double, appears to the mind as 
single. This is the true, and only true explanation of 
double vision. It is a simple application of the law above 
described. The correctness of this explanation is seen most 
distinctly by means of the stereoscope. Two images of 
a thing are presented by it, as they appear in nature, to 
each eye of a spectator. Prom not being in the habit of 
seeing these images artificially represented, we often find 
a difficulty, at first, in causing them to blend into one. 
Yix the gaze, however, attentively upon them, and 
not unfrequently you can watch the actual process by 
which the two pictures before us melt together com- 
pletely into one mental image. 

Now, for a second example, — take some large object, 
as a cathedral or a mountain. If we only see it once, 
and then try to recall it, we shall probably find that the 
residuum it has left behind is weak and indistinct. If we 
gaze on it long or often, we obtain a great many different 
j)oi?tts of view; each point of view leaves its trace in 
the mind ; and the whole of these traces blend together 



102 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

into one vivid and distinct mental image of the object in 
question. Here a very important principle is involved, 
namely, that when numerous residua of one and the 
same object, or of similar objects, are accumulated, and 
coalesce, the resulting mental perception will, in ordinary 
cases, be strong just in proportion to the number of the 
residua which enter into it. 

This same law of combination accounts for the fact 
that, although we see a person in a hundred different 
positions and attitudes, yet we always appear to have the 
same mental impression of him. If we see only a small 
portion of his back or side-face, yet, if that portion be 
sufficient for us to recognise him at all, we have just the 
same image brought home to the mind as though we had 
seen him fully and completely. The truth is, that all 
our individual experiences of a friend or acquaintance 
blend into one general conception, and then the most 
hasty and partial view of him is sufficient to call up the 
whole image as it exists within us already. 

Of course, in proportion to the greater similarity of the 
objects, the tendency will be so much greater in the corre- 
sponding residua to blend together. So rapidlyis this blend- 
ing effected, that we find it extremely difficult to count any 
number of precisely similar objects, such as a flock of 
sheep, a row of palings, or a number of marbles. The 
perception of each individual thing is clear enough, but 
the residuum it leaves behind so instantly assimilates and 
blends with the rest that we cannot keep them apart, and 
confusion in our reckoning is the result. <■ 

The most important application of this law of simi- 
larity, however, occurs in the case of objects where the 
similarity between them is only partial. As this case 
requires some explanation, we shall enter into it a little 
more fully. 

In perceiving a number of objects of the same class, 



LAW OF SIMILARITY. 103 

we are at once conscious of a general similarity which 
runs through the whole ; but we observe, at the same 
time, a great variety of dissimilarities between one indi- 
vidual and another. Now, each individual object, ac- 
cording to the law of persistency, wall leave its own 
special residuum behind in the mind, so that we accumu- 
late unconsciously a large number of impressions, which, 
though in some respects different, yet have all a definite 
family likeness. Here, then, the law we are explaining 
comes into operation. All these residua, so far as they 
resemble each other, blend together, and form what we 
may term a generalized perception, while the remaining 
elements in the residua, which are unlike, are left free to 
combine with any other impressions with which they may 
have any special affinity. 

This process, by which objects wholly or partially 
similar blend together in one mental impression, gives us 
a great insight into the construction of our perceptive 
power. The reason why the first perceptions of infancy 
are weak arises from the fact that very few residua have 
as yet blended together in the mind, and that a new 
impression, consequently, has very little power of calling 
up any large amount of former experience. The process 
of combination, however, begins very early, especially in 
regard to those objects which are the constant materials 
of observation. Hence the perceptions of the child, at 
first dim and uncertain, soon become, within its own 
narrow circle, very vivid and distinct ; the more so, of 
course, from the limited range of materials which as yet 
occupy the consciousness. As the mind grows more 
mature, and the impressions more varied, our knowledge 
would naturally become infinitesimally minute, and 
proportionally confused, if there were no law by which 
similar residua could blend into a certain number of 
classified perceptions. By means of the law, however, 



104 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

which we are now explaining, our experiences instinctively 
arrange themselves under certain heads, determined by 
the natural similarity of the objects to which they refer. 
The multiplicity of our impressions thus blends into com- 
bined images, and classified perceptive knowledge is the 
result. Thus every new perception subsequently acquired 
instinctively appeals to some mass of already accumulated 
experience, draws this experience afresh into conscious- 
ness, and then blends with it into one. This accounts for 
the fact that the most fragmentary perceptions of objects 
spontaneously complete themselves in our consciousness. 
The small surface of colouring which the eye takes in 
when we look upon a distant church, or mountain, or 
landscape, awakens the whole mass of collateral experi- 
ences, and thus builds up the entire object within the 
consciousness, in all its minuteness and detailed reality. 

Add to all this the fact, that residua manifest them- 
selves as so many tendencies to recurrence, and the 
larger the accumulation of them in any given form, the 
stronger that tendency becomes. Hence it is that men 
who are passionately devoted to any given branch of 
knowledge find food for observation every where. The 
botanist has an eye for a thousand minute plants which 
wholly escape the observation of the ordinary beholder 
the entomologist has the same for insects ; the geologist 
for the appearance of the soil, the rocks, and the moun- 
tains. Wherever long observation has accumulated vast 
stores of residua, the least stimulus will cause them to 
recur, and almost every fresh object will add something 
to the entire mass of our knowledge. 

We may, in conclusion, again point to the analogy 
between the mode in which our perceptive faculty is con- 
structed and the process by which our bodily organs are 
formed. In the former case we have an infinite number 
of residua, which combine by the law of similarity, and 



LAW OF SIMILARITY. 105 

form, as it were, the network or tissue of the perceptive 
consciousness, each portion of that tissue having certain 
tendencies or habits impressed upon it, which facilitate its 
recurrence, and form definite habits of mental activity. 
In the latter case we have an infinite number of cells, 
which are constructed by a similar attractive power, 
which combine for a special purpose, which exhibit, 
when thus combined, defined tendencies and facilities of 
action, and which at length develop a complete organ 
adapted to some special bodily function. We can hardly 
resist the inference that the higher, or mental process, is 
but a continuation, on another sphere, of that unconscious 
physical process which instinctively adapts the organs of 
the body to be the servants and instruments of the 
mental faculties. 



CHAPTER VI. 

CLASSIFICATION OF SIMPLE PEKCEPTIONS. 

The varieties of our sense-perceptions appear, at first 
sight, to be almost infinite. Every moment of our 
waking life seems to change the scene, and offer to us 
some new experience. This appearance of variety, how- 
ever, arises mainly from the extremely complex nature of 
the great mass of our perceptions. The primary elements 
of these are really few, but such elements can enter into 
an endless series of combinations, and thus produce the 
vast complication of phenomena of which we have just 
spoken. Our present object is to give a classification of 
the simple or elementary forms of perception ; and, 
having ascertained these, we can with more advantage 
enter into their subsequent complications and develop- 
ments. 

(1.) The first kind of simple perception (first in the 
order of time and in the elementary nature of its results) 
is what may be termed the general sense of bodily existence 
(coin^sthesis). The nature of this is easily explained. 
All our perceptions originate in the action and reaction 
which take place between the nervous system and the 
mind. The very process of life, we know, occasions a 
certain tension and excitement of some portion of the 
nerves. The beating of the heart, the play of the lungs, 
hunger and thirst, the sense of vigour and weariness, of 
health and sickness, — all these, and many other undefined 
circumstances, imply a certain condition of the nerves in 



CLASSIFICATION OF SIMPLE PERCEPTIONS. 107 

general, and more particularly of those of the sympa- 
thetic system. What we mean by common sensibility, 
then, is that general, and, for the most part, indefinable 
state of feeling which arises from our whole bodily con- 
dition at any given time. This state of feeling might, at 
first sight, appear to belong merely to the category of 
sensation, as its name would certainly indicate ; but we 
must remember that no palpable line, except, indeed, 
for the sake of mental analysis, can be drawn between 
sensation and perception. By sensation is meant, of 
course, the bare feeling which arises from some affection 
of the sensory nerves. But it is the mind, after all, 
which feels ; and the very moment any feeling arises, 
some portion of its latent energy is aroused, and the 
mere passive sensation passes over to a mental act, i.e., 
to an act of perception. Thus, when the mind's attention 
is drawn to the affections of its own organism, however 
indistinct they may be, there is always a perception 
involved in the whole process, as well as a sensation. 

In the adult, this general condition of the nervous 
system, which we term common-sensibility, seldom 
comes prominently into consciousness as a distinct experi- 
ence. The adult is usually occupied with other impres- 
sions or ideas, which absorb the attention, and leave no 
room in the mind for these minor phenomena. But such 
is not probably the case with the infant. No strong com- 
bination or blending of residua has yet taken place in the 
infant mind ; no acquired perceptions occupy it ; every- 
thing is as yet weak and indefinite ; so that the whole of 
the perceptions actually experienced are more allied to 
common-sensibility than to the special perceptions which 
come through any of the separate organs. As the mind 
becomes more mature, and residua increase, one distinct 
perception after another steps forward into consciousness 
out of the confused mass of feelings which go to make 



108 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

up the whole phenomenon of ccenses thesis. After a time 
these specific perceptions occupy the mind altogether, 
and then what we term common-sensibility simply re- 
mains, as a sort of dim back-ground of feeling, of which 
we only become conscious when all the more attractive 
impulses are for a time lulled into repose. When this is 
the case, it only appears to the consciousness as filling 
up the intervals between our more distinctive mental 
phenomena. 

(2.) Sight. — Of those perceptions which, in contra- 
distinction to the phenomena of common-sensibility, 
stand out with some degree of special distinctness, the 
most important and striking are those of sight. The 
number of composite perceptions which develop them- 
selves out of the phenomena of vision is almost infinite. 
Thus we have through the eye the varied perceptions of 
surface, of size, of position, of distance, of form, of 
motion, of rest, of solidity, and their numberless combi- 
nations ; in a word, well nigh all the primary and 
secondary qualities of external objects, in all their multi- 
farious relations. 

None of them, however, are simple perceptions ; they 
are all reasoned out by an instinctive process of logic, 
from the single phenomenon of light and colour. The 
varied shades of colour which meet the eye form the 
special class of simple perceptions, which we indicate 
generally by the term vision ; and all these, again, are 
reducible to the three primary colours of red, yellow, 
and blue. The perception, accordingly, of these three 
colours constitutes the primary basis on which the whole 
of the phenomena of vision are really built. All beside 
these are acquired by a subsequent mental interpretation. 

(3.) Hearing. — The eye is, par excellence, the intel- 
lectual sense. Light is the figure by which we most 
naturally represent knowledge j and to see a thing is 



CLASSIFICATION OF SIMPLE PERCEPTIONS. 109 

used as an equivalent for understanding it. Hearing, on 
the other hand, is more nearly allied to the feelings. 
Tones of voice betoken emotions which no words can 
express. Music is the most natural and direct expression 
of feeling that we have, whether it be joyous or other- 
wise. As a genera] rule, it is by sound that we come 
into the closest contact with sentiment, and emotion of 
every kind. 

It is not emotion only, however, that is conveyed 
to us through this sense; there are many thousands 
of other facts which gradually associate themselves with 
the vast variety of sounds we hear around us. We 
judge of the distance, the direction, and the intensity of 
a sound by an acquired facility. We can tell, in a great 
number of instances, exactly what the cause of it is. 
We are every moment guided in our judgment of men 
and things by the simple power of the ear. Words 
themselves are but sounds, and yet what a force do they 
possess to mould, govern, recall, and stimulate our ideas 1 
Still, when all these ramifications of the sense of hearing 
have been enumerated, we must not forget that it is the 
vibrations of the atmosphere, and the consequent affec- 
tion of the nerves of hearing, which form the sole 
starting-point of the whole. All the delights of music, 
all the charms of society, all the power of language, all 
the expressions of love, pity, anger, remorse, joy, and 
fear, which we encounter on our way through life, — all 
are but the developments of the one elementary percep- 
tion of sound, as conveyed to us through waves of the 
atmosphere, in combination with the susceptibility of 
the appropriate organ. 

(4.) Touch. — The sense of touch, unlike all the rest, 
is not confined to any distinct organ, but is dispersed 
over the whole body. The simple perceptions which 
arise from it are also much more varied than are those of 



110 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

sight and hearing. Perhaps, however, they may all be 
reduced by a careful analysis to the two categories 
of pressure and heat. All the varied perceptions we 
have of hard, soft, rough, smooth, and their cognates, 
manifestly arise from the different kinds of pressure 
we receive from the surfaces of things. The feelings 
arising from a blow, a prick, a push, or any other kind 
of impact, are also results of pressure, but differing 
from the other cases in regard to the suddenness or 
rapidity of it. If the impact is very gentle and very 
rapid, it will produce the phenomena of tickling and 
itching; and this again passes over very easily, as 
it increases in intensity, into a feeling of burning. 
The phenomena of pressure, therefore, are, after all, con- 
nected with those of heat, which, as we have before 
shown, arises from infinitesimal vibrations impinging 
upon the nerves. Thus, although there seems, at first, 
to be such a manifest difference between touch properly 
so-called, on the one hand, and heat and cold on the 
other, yet they are really only extreme ends of one and 
the same series of causes, and of one and the same form 
of sensation. These, then, are the simple perceptions 
connected with the sense of touch. Their developments, 
las we shall hereafter see, are no less varied, extensive, 
and important than those of sight and hearing. More 
particularly is this the case in relation to the perception 
of resistance, or, as it has sometimes been called, the 
muscular sense. Some writers, indeed, have pro- 
posed to make a sixth special form of sensation out 
of this class of phenomena. They overlook, however, the 
fact that all resistance must commence with pressure in 
some form — that this must, therefore, be the primary 
perception from which our consciousness of resistance 
proceeds — and that all modes of resistance, and conclu- 
sions from them, are only a development of that one 



CLASSIFICATION OF SIMPLE PERCEPTIONS. Ill 

simple perception in connexion with the action of 
the motor-nerves, and the accompanying consciousness 
of effort as exerted by the will. 

(5.) Smelling. — The perception of odours is a pecu- 
liar and elementary one, and the developments which it 
usually experiences in the process of our mental history 
are not in any way to be compared with those of 
the three senses already referred to. This does not 
appear to arise from any decided incapacity which the 
phenomena of smell labour under to form the basis 
of any number of acquired perceptions. There are 
many qualities of bodies which we learn to distinguish 
by the scent more readily than in any other way. 
Added to this, odours have a remarkable power of 
recalling associated ideas, which seem to blend with 
them with singular tenacity, and show that they might 
easily become the starting-point of a vast amount of 
mental activity. Were we wholly dependent upon this 
sense for our mental development, no doubt the percep- 
tions we might acquire in connexion with it would 
be fruitful to a degree of which we have at present 
no idea whatever. In the case of some animals, the 
perceptions which come through this medium, are quite 
equal, if not superior, to those of sight and hearing; 
and there is no reason why they should not prove 
equally important in the process of our own mental 
development, but that we find a shorter road to the 
same conclusions through the other senses. 

(6.) Taste. — The last in our list of simple percep- 
tions is that of taste. As the sense of smell is more 
nearly related to that of hearing, and is most readily 
associated with the feelings, so the sense of taste is 
more nearly allied to sight, and is most readily asso- 
ciated with our ideas. The elementary experiences con- 
nected with this sense are but few. They may all 



112 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE PERCEPTION. 

be reduced to the four perceptions of sweet, bitter, acid, 
and salt. These four perceptions enter, of course, into 
innumerable combinations, and become associated by 
experience, like all the rest, with a vast variety of 
qualities, which they then reveal to us with almost 
unerring accuracy. 

Our list of simple perceptions is now complete. 
Colour, sound, pressure, heat, scent, taste, and the inde- 
finable consciousness of our bodily state, form the 
groundwork on which the whole immense fabric of our 
perceptive life is built up. It must not be supposed, 
however, that all our perceptive knowledge is formed 
simply out of these materials. This would land us in 
complete sensationalism. Neither do we hold, on the 
other side, that there are any ideas in the mind previous 
to the processes by which they are, in fact, constructed. 
The precise definition of the relationship which exists 
between the percipient mind and the thing perceived 
gives the whole tone and complexion to our philosophy ; 
and on this account we wish to make it as clear and in- 
telligible as possible. 

Let us return, then, to the analogy of nature in 
her lower operations. We do not say that the seed of 
the plant contains the blossom or the fruit, on the one 
hand ; nor, on the other, do we imagine that the actual 
material which the plant absorbs from the air and 
the soil can form them independently of the peculiar life- 
principle which is inherent in every seed. In the same 
way, the primary cell does not contain the members and 
organs of the perfected animal, neither can the nutri- 
ment which is absorbed in the process of development 
construct them by any mechanical process, without 
the spark of vitality by which the entire nature of 
the growth is regulated. 

Just so is it with the mind. Neither its ideas nor its 



CLASSIFICATION OF SIMPLE PERCEPTIONS. 113 

faculties are innate; they do not exist at all in the 
primary germ. On the other hand, the material by 
means of which they are constructed must be supplied 
from the outer world. This material, however, has to 
be assimilated ; the germ of mental life, first granted by 
the Creator, must co-operate in the whole process of 
growth ; by its means, the phenomena given in sensa- 
tion must be grasped and retained — nay, must be 
woven, as it were, into the tissue of consciousness ; and 
thus, not only our ideas, but our mental tendencies, 
habits, powers, and faculties, must all be successively 
constructed. As every plant has its peculiarity, — as 
every living body its distinct individuality, which is the 
joint result of the embryonic germ itself, and the process 
of nutrition and growth through which it passes, — so, 
also, every mind develops into distinct personality, as 
the joint result of the spark of human life first deposited 
within the limits of time and space, and the whole 
process of mind-growth, for which experience provides 
the matter and the stimulus. 

Thus, though neither our ideas nor faculties are innate, 
and though experience is requisite at every step of 
our mental development, we must still reserve this 
fact, as expressing the proper heritage of the soul 
— namely, that each individual mind-germ contains 
within it an individual nature and constitution, which, 
when brought in contact with a world adapted to 
its wants, must, of necessity, develop certain faculties, 
certain perceptions, certain ideas, and, finally, certain 
convictions. A part of the process by which the per- 
ceptive power is formed we have already seen ; we shall 
go on, in the next chapter, to trace the manner in which 
we gain all our ideas of the varied relations of matter 
and space. 



CHAPTER VII. 

PERCEPTION IN RELATION TO THE EXTERNAL 
WORLD. 

None of the simple perceptions which we have enume- 
rated in the last chapter give us any direct knowledge of 
the external world. All the primary phenomena of 
colour, sound, pressure, scent, and taste, might come to 
the consciousness, and yet, if no further mental action 
were awakened by them, they would never lead us 
to form any notion of an objective material existence. 
The mode in which what has been aptly termed a 
world-consciousness springs out of our primary conscious- 
ness, and develops into all the varied knowledge we 
gain perceptively of external things and their divers 
attributes : — this has yet to be carefully analyzed and 
explained. 

All our perceptions of external things are connected 
with the consciousness of their existing in time and space. 
We cannot regard objects either as co-existent, or extended, 
without involving relations of space. We cannot regard 
them as successive without involving relations of time. 
But what is time, and what is space ? These questions 
have always been two of the most knotty points in meta- 
physics. By some, time and space have been regarded 
as simple perceptions ; by others, as innate ideas ; by 
others, as pure intuitions ; by the Kantian school as the 
a priori forms of sensation. 

Leaving all these theories for the moment on one side, 



PERCEPTION IN RELATION TO THE EXTERNAL WORLD. 115 

this much is evident, that, as we are constituted, time- 
and-space-perceptions do uniformly and of necessity come 
to us, as our natural faculties unfold. Whether, however, 
they are innate ideas, or forms of sensation, or anything 
else of a purely a priori character, is not positively affirmed 
in this admission. There is no proof, at any rate, that the 
relations either of time or space exist as ideas in the mind 
previous to the promptings and teachings of experience ; 
neither is it at all evident that they are universal and 
a priori forms to which all our sensations must bend. 
Tastes and scents do not appear to have any necessary 
connexion either with time or space. They have no ex- 
tension, neither do they come to us in any distinct series. 
Sounds exist only under the relation of time ; colours, for 
the most part, only under the relation of extension ; 
while touch alone can grasp objects under the relation of 
solidity with three dimensions. None of these points, it 
is evident, are at all explained by saying that time and 
space are the forms, the one of the inner, the other of the 
outward sense. 

The whole question is, in fact, still fairly open to in- 
vestigation ; since neither the cl priori nor the Kantian 
theory have been able to challenge or to gain anything 
approaching to a universal consent ; and, if we can 
clearly trace the genesis of these ideas as necessarily 
acquired perceptions, we may rest as fully satisfied of 
their validity and their universality as if we were to 
adopt the most explicit a priori theory. 

Great difficulty has always been felt in explaining the 
nature of perception in reference to the outward world, 
from the opposition which exists between the qualities 
of mind and matter. Whatever metaphysical theory we 
may adopt in explanation of these two terms, the fact 
remains the same, — that to mind we attribute one set of 
properties, and to matter another. So opposed are 

i 2 



116 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE PERCEPTION. 

these properties, moreover, to each other, that we find it 
almost impossible to conceive how any community of 
action or reaction can take place between them. To the 
one we attribute all the relations of space and body; 
to the other the varied phenomena of sensation, thought, 
and volition. 

If we consider the manifold activity of the world 
around us, every change which occurs is a change in 
ptace ; if we consider the activity of the mind — here, 
indeed, we still find that relations of time hold good; 
but the relations of space altogetlter disappear. There 
is one thing, however, which still remains common to 
both, and that is the idea of activity itself. Mind acts, 
and matter acts; mind changes, and matter changes. 
If we ask next what we mean by the actions and changes 
of the material world, we find that they all resolve them- 
selves into motion. The action of gravitation is known 
only by the motion of planetary or other bodies. 
Chemical and organic action is accounted for in the same 
way, i.e., by the motion of particles. If you ask how 
one kind of motion is caused, it can only be answered 
by holding up another, of a more recondite and primitive 
nature. All change resolves itself into the motion of 
particles or of masses : and without motion no kind of 
change or activity in the material world would be 
conceivable. 

Turning from the activity of external nature to that 
of mind, we find the idea of motion by no means present- 
ing the same degree of irrelevancy and opposition which 
is true of all other material properties. The mind is 
conceived of as something which possesses the power of 
motion in the highest degree. Nothing is swifter than 
thought. Our minds can pass from one point of space 
to another, and think of objects in the remotest and 
most distant regions with the utmost facility. Compare 



PERCEPTION IN RELATION TO THE EXTERNAL WORLD. 117 

any object in motion, first as it exists in nature, and 
then as it represents itself to thought, and there is a 
marked analogy between them. How can we conceive, 
for example, of the motion of a planet in its orbit? 
Only by passing in thought round the same pathway. 
The motion, which the planet itself exhibits in its 
course, must be mentally repeated, in order that that, 
which exists in nature, may be reproduced in thought. 

Motion, then, may be regarded as a kind of common 
(/round on which mind and nature can meet. We have 
thus got a starting point from which a comparison can 
be instituted between the properties of body on the one 
hand, and mental phenomena on the other. The very 
first awakening of consciousness, as we before saw, is 
produced by the change from one state to another ; and 
this very change must involve motion mentally con- 
sidered. It is a mental phenomenon which stands in as 
close analogy as any mental thing can stand to the 
change of phenomena in the external world ; that is, to 
motion externally considered. 

•Now let us return to the physiological view of the 
question, and see how this coheres with the above 
analysis. In our former analysis of sensation we found 
that the only way in which the external world affects the 
nervous system is by means of motion. Light is 
motion ; sound, motion ; heat, motion ; touch, motion ; 
taste and smell, all motion. The world is known to 
sense simply by virtue of, and in relation to, the motions 
of its particles ■ these motions are appreciated and con- 
tinued by the nervous system, and by it are brought at 
length to the mind's perception. When the mind reacts 
in its turn upon the world, it does so wholly through 
the nerves of motion. The last material action we can 
trace in every process of sensation, previous to its enter- 
ing the abode of consciousness, is motion ; the first 



118 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

reaction we see as it emerges from the abode of con- 
sciousness back into time and space, again is motion. 
The conscious interval is filled up with what is analogous 
to motion, i.e., with the change of consciousness, which 
takes place within us. 

We find, accordingly, 1st, that motion holds in thought 
the common ground between mind and nature ; and, 
2dly, that the same view of it is confirmed by all that 
physiology teaches us of the manner in which the 
external world acts upon the nervous system. We have 
next to show that, logically speaking, time and space are 
generated by motion, and come into the consciousness 
as the direct result of the experience which the mind 
possesses of change in relation to its own phenomena. 

And first with regard to time — the dependence of 
this idea upon motion has been more or less admitted 
and affirmed by philosophers from the earliest times 
downwards. " Our conception of time," says Aristotle, 
" originates in that of motion ; and particularly in 
" those regular and equable motions carried on in the 
" heavens, the parts of which, from their perfect simi- 
" larity to each other, are correct measures of the con- 
" tinuous and successive quantity called time, with 
" which they are conceived to co-exist. Time, therefore, 
" may be defined — the perceived number of successive 
" movements ; for as number ascertains the greater or 
" lesser quantity of things numbered,- so time ascertains 
" the greater or lesser quantity of motion performed!' 

This is, in fact, nothing more than the doctrine of 
Locke and so many other acute analysts, that the 
perception of time depends upon the succession of our 
ideas. Externally, time is measured by the succession 
of events ; internally, by the succession of ileas. In 
both cases it is by means of motion, first in its physical 
and then its mental acceptation, that the perception of 



PERCEPTION IN RELATION TO THE EXTERNAL WORLD. 119 

time originates. Without a conscious succession of 
ideas we could have no notion whatever either of the 
flight or duration of time ; and in like manner, without a 
succession of movements external to ourselves, we could 
have no measure of time as an objective reality. In 
relation, therefore, to thought on the one hand, and the 
outward flow of events on the other, time is generated 
by motion, and but for this would never exist as a fact 
either subjectively or objectively. 

With regard to space, the case is not at first sight so 
apparent. If we consider, however, in what manner we 
come to realize the idea of a line or a surface, we shall 
find that it is done in the same way as we before 
showed in the case of a planetary orbit \ that is to say, we 
must move along the line or over the surface mentally, 
in order to realize them externally. A line is generated 
in nature by the motion of a point, and a surface by the 
motion of a line. In like manner, if we want to con- 
ceive of any given line, we can only do so by moving 
along the same direction in thought ; and if we want to 
conceive of any given surface we can only do so by pass- 
ing in imagination all round it. In every case it is 
motion which generates space, and only as far as motion 
extends can we have any idea of space whatever. So 
far as the movements of the heavenly bodies reach, space 
can be definitely conceived and measured ; but beyond 
that all is dim infinity. Even in thought we lose the 
perception of space beyond the range where we can 
mark out definite limits by the power of imagination. 

And this, again, coheres with the physiology of the 
case. Not one of the senses can give us directly the 
slightest experience of extension or body. The eye 
gives us merely the phenomena of colour, which might 
as well arise from a mere internal affection of the optic 



120 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

nerve as from any real surfaces or objects around us. 
Touch is a simple feeling, which, prior to the teaching of 
experience, contains no notion of, or resemblance to, the 
thing which affects us. In a word, none of the pheno- 
mena conveyed through the nerves of sensation have 
originally the slightest connexion with any notion we 
may form of an external world, or of the relations of 
space. The way in which the mind passes out of its 
own subjective sphere into the world of space and body 
is through the instrumentality of the motor system. No 
sooner is a sensation produced than the motor nerves 
are impelled from within to respond, to carry their 
inquiry as to the disturbing cause back to the point 
from which it proceeded, to investigate the nature of 
that cause ; if possible, to perceive its properties. This 
we shall show can be done, as far as the relations of 
space and body are concerned, only by means of the 
motive power of the organs. 

That it is by means of motion that the perception of 
space is produced is clearly shown in connexion with 
the sense of touch. The mere feeling of a pressure, or a 
blow, or a puncture, or any other mode by which this 
sense is affected, would arouse nothing approaching to 
the perception of outness ; but no sooner does the motor 
system come into operation, no sooner does the mind 
begin to inquire and feel after the thing affecting it, 
than the elements of an objective consciousness begin to 
appear. If the pressure or blow affect some part of the 
body, such as the back, where there is no effective 
motive power existing, the bare feeling produced by 
touch can hardly at all pass over into the perception of 
extension or body ; but if we can reach the object with 
the hand, and move that organ along and around it, the 
consciousness of extension and body soon begins to 



PERCEPTION IN RELATION TO THE EXTERNAL WORLD. 121 

appear. That this is quite distinct from the mere 
sensation of touch is manifest from the fact that we 
judge of extension even if we only apply the nails, where 
no nerves of sensation exist, to the object ; nay, we can 
do so even by means of anything we hold in the hand ; 
for in both these cases the muscular effort put forth, 
the space passed over, and the resistance of the surface, 
can be estimated, though no sensation accompany it. 
In brief, the finer and more delicate the motive power 
of the organ the more readily can we estimate the rela- 
tions of space and body. On this account it is that we 
perceive space by the eye and the hand, and not by the 
ear or any other sense. The eye and the hand possess 
the most perfect motive power of any of the organs of 
sensation ; and we shall show by our succeeding analysis 
that it is precisely by means of these two organs, and 
precisely on account of their power of motion as organs 
of the mind and the will, that the perception of exten- 
sion, surface, body, and the cognate ideas are generated in 
the natural course of our mental development. 

Lastly, the view we have taken of time and space, as 
generated by motion, is even confirmed by the funda- 
mental formula of Dynamics — s = vt, v = |, t = -. 
These formulae show that the three relations of space > 
time, and velocity {i.e., motion), can all be expressed in 
terms of each other. But which of the three, let us ask, 
is the first and fundamental idea? The space passed 
over by a body could certainly never be perceived with- 
out the motion of it being first observed ; nor could the 
time be perceived except as measuring a given amount 
of motion ; i.e., a given velocity over a given space. On 
the other hand we have no difficulty in dissevering the 
motion itself as a mental phenomenon both from any 
definite perception of time or any consideration of 
distance. In other words, motion is the fundamental 



122 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

and initiating phenomenon, while space and time are 
merely the measures of it. The word velocity is simply 
used to indicate motion after the measure of time and 
space have been applied to it, and thus given it a definite 
quantitative proportion. 



CHAPTER VIII. 
PERCEPTION OF SPACE. 



There is one important point in which the organs of 
sight and touch differ very essentially from those of 
hearing, smelling, and tasting. It is this, — that in the 
three last-mentioned cases we can only receive one 
complete sensation at a time ; whereas in the former two 
we can have a variety of sensations brought home to the 
consciousness contemporaneously \ It is true that we 
perceive a great many sounds by the ear at once. But, 
then, they interfere largely with each other, and the 
main result is, that we experience a kind of mixed 
sensation, in which the whole of the elements affecting 
the organ are blended together into one phenomenon. 
Still more completely is this the case with taste and 
smell. For here, however compound the cause of both 
may be, the result to the consciousness is one and indi- 
visible. This arises from the fact that every sound, 
every scent, and every taste, which we experience, chal- 
lenges and occupies the whole organ, and the entire 
nerve- apparatus with which it is provided. On the 
other hand, in the case of sight and touch, the nerve- 
points are so separated and independent of each other 
that a great variety of objects may affect them at the 
same moment, and each affection may reach the con- 
sciousness as distinctly as though there were no other to 
occupy the mind's attention. This is one of the first 
particulars which have to be noticed as giving a peculiar 



124 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

aptitude to the senses of sight and touch, to become the 
mediums for awakening the perception of space. 

It will be necessary for us, however, to go into a 
closer analysis of the process of space-perception before 
we can get anything like an adequate comprehension 
of it. 

And first, we must consider this process as it is con- 
nected with sight. If every individual portion of the 
nerve-expansion on the retina was equally affected by 
every ray of light that enters the eye, and the same 
image was formed at the extremity by every one of the 
nerve-fibres which reaches the surface, the law of simi- 
larity would at once come into operation, and these 
manifold images would blend into one common result. 
This, however, is not the case. An extended image of 
the whole field of vision is thrown by the mechanism of 
the eye upon the retina ; and each part of the nervous 
expansion receives only its own individual part of the 
whole impression. There are two things which prevent 
all these different parts from blending into one indi- 
visible result. First, the colours themselves differ ; so 
that the law of similarity is at once impeded by the 
actual variety of the phenomena ; and, secondly, even sup- 
posing that the difference in the impressions on different 
portions of the retina were not so great as to prevent the 
law of similarity taking effect, yet there is another im- 
portant hinderance which presents itself. The eye is so 
formed, that only one point at a time in the whole field 
of vision can be seen with perfect distinctness. The point 
to which the axis of the eye is directed is apprehended 
with entire clearness ; but all the other portions of the 
retinal picture shade off into indistinctness, becoming 
more dim and undefined exactly in proportion as they 
become more distant from this central point. Hence, as 
regards distinctness, there is an infinite variety in the 



PERCEPTION OF SPACE. 125 

different portions of the whole phenomenon, which also 
acts as a strong counteracting influence to the tendency 
they would otherwise have to blend together into one 
indivisible feeling. Accordingly, we have arrived so far 
on the way to the perception of space, that the mind is 
made conscious of a great number of different pheno- 
mena, which appeal to it, not in succession, but quite 
contemporaneously; and which remain so distinct that 
they resist all our efforts to combine them into one 
common perception. 

But, then, the question comes, Why should we be 
induced to project these phenomena out of ourselves, and 
place them before us as so many separate positions in 
space, or as forming an extended surface apart from our 
own consciousness ? Here the effect of motion again 
comes in to aid us in generating the space-perception. 

The eye is formed with the most delicate and perfect 
power of moving in all directions. As only one point in 
the field of vision is perfectly clear, the eye passes rapidly 
from point to point, until, by the power of memory, or 
(what is the same thing) by the persistency of the im- 
pressions, each part of the entire surface is apprehended 
at once with about the same conscious clearness. Had 
we the power of generating the phenomena of vision for 
ourselves, as they appear at each point in the field of 
observation, we might regard them still as a rapid suc- 
cession of mere subjective mental conditions ; but this is 
not the case. All we are conscious of, as coming from 
our own volition, is the motion of the organ ; but every 
fresh motion is accompanied, without any further effort 
of our own, with a distinct and a varied experience. As 
the mind, therefore, is one and indivisible, and as all its 
states assume the form of a succession or series, it 
cannot possibly become conscious of a multiplicity of co- 
existing phenomena under any idea of their being modes 



126 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE PERCEPTION. 

of its own existence. Hence, as the eye moves from 
point to point in the field of vision, it must of necessity 
regard them all as standing apart from itself, and as 
forming an extended surface, in which these several 
points (already known as co-existing) form relative posi- 
tions in sjjace. The motion itself is not an objective 
phenomenon ; it is, in fact, to us, purely subjective. Every 
single movement implies a contraction or expansion of 
muscles, and every muscular effort implies an inward 
power of the will. But when each movement is accom- 
panied by a distinct phenomenon in the field of vision, 
which regularly recurs each time the movement is 
directed towards it, such a result would be utterly incon- 
sistent with the unity of the soul, were not the whole of 
these phenomena projected out of ourselves, and regarded 
as co-existent positions in space. To this it might be 
objected, that it is impossible to imagine any such 
process of reasoning to take place at so early a period, 
and that the space-perceptions must of necessity be 
instinctive and intuitive. This objection, however, over- 
looks the existence of the preconscious activity, which we 
have already shown to be a great fact, of mind. Instinc- 
tive reasoning processes — nay, unconscious reasoning 
processes, take place within us from the earliest periods 
of our history; and it is no less wonderful that the soul 
should adapt the bodily organism to its own future uses, 
which we know it does, than that it should tacitly build 
up its own knowledge of that w r orld from the phenomena 
presented. 

That this view of the case is correct may be tested by 
the effect produced upon us, when images are generated 
by disease in the optic nerve. If we find the same 
phenomena always making their appearance, to which- 
ever side we turn the eye, we instinctively attribute them 
to some subjective impression generated by the mind 



PERCEPTION OF SPACE. 127 

itself under certain organic stimuli. If, however, there is 
a regular recurrence of the same phenomena with every 
similar movement of the eye, we instinctively feel that 
they must arise from a source external to ourselves. So 
that, as we before showed, the moveable eye is, as it 
were, the hand, by which the mind grasps the outward 
reality, and the sunbeam is the pencil by which it marks 
out for itself the limits of outward surfaces, and deter- 
mines the co-existent positions by which those surfaces 
are known. It is by the motion of the organ that we 
become conscious of an indefinite number of co-existent 
phenomena, and it is because they are co-existent, 
ranging themselves in a group, and not in a series, that 
we are led instinctively to place them out of ourselves, 
and regard them as so many positions in space objectively 
considered. 

If we go from the organ of sight to that of feeling, a 
precisely analogous process takes place. Here the whole 
data, by which we judge of extension, surface, or any 
of the space relations, are given simply by the muscular 
system, — not in the slightest degree by the nerves of 
sensation. Those parts of the body where motive power 
only exists to a small degree, however sensitive in other 
respects, give no assistance towards the production of our 
space-perceptions. The principal organ by which we 
judge of them, in connexion with this sense, is the hand, 
— just because the hand possesses the most highly deve- 
loped muscular sense. We move the hand over a surface, 
and become conscious of co-existent phenomena, just as 
we do by the motion of the eye. The same instinctive 
conclusion again takes place. We cannot think of a 
number of co-existent phenomena, as forms of the inward 
consciousness; mind is one, and cannot be conceived 
under the idea of multiplicity or divisibility. Hence we 
are constrained to think these phenomena as existing 



128 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE PERCEPTION. 

apart from ourselves ; we range them side by side with 
each other; and, as the hand moves from one to the 
other, we generate the notion of space or extension, as 
being that which is measured by the motion, and marked 
off by the co-existent positions of the phenomena. 

Taking, then, the three perceptions of time, space, 
and motion, we find again that the last is the real 
starting-point in the history of our mind's development. 
The perception of motion does not necessarily involve 
that of time or space, as it arises simply from a certain 
exertion of the muscular system, and can assume, as we 
before showed, a purely subjective as well as a purely 
objective form. The perception of motion, however, 
once gained, time and space immediately follow. Time 
is the measure of motion internally ; space is the measure 
of it externally. As every mental phenomenon, coming, 
as it does, in the series of consciousness, involves a 
relation of time, and every one of the muscular move- 
ments, by which we are connected with the outer world, 
involves a relation of space, we cannot wonder that time 
and space should present themselves to us as universal 
forms of sense, and appear to be co-extensive with the 
entire field of our experience. In reality, they are 
acquired perceptions ; but they are acquired so early, 
and substantiated by such an infinite number of repe- 
titions, that they have imposed upon a large portion of 
the thinking world to write them down as innate ideas, 
or a priori elements of all our knowledge. 



CHAPTER IX. 

FURTHER DEVELOPMENT OF THE SPACE- 
PERCEPTIONS. 



Before we proceed to the further development of the 
space-perceptions, it will be as well to recapitulate the 
steps we have already taken. When the human being 
is first brought into the world, and placed in the midst 
of the numerous influences which affect the bodily 
organization, its first consciousness can be nothing but a 
confused mass of indistinct impressions, which we call 
ccensesthesis, or common-sensibility. The infant, as we 
know, is born with a bodily frame, and a nervous 
system, immature, indeed, but still complete. The first 
perceptions which come out prominently from the 
original dim background of this common-sensibility 
would naturally be those connected with a certain tension 
of the muscular system : for the primary sensations we 
experience, would of course, produce some reaction i 
this reaction instinctively sets the motor-nerves and 
muscles in operation, and the tension thus produced in 
the limits and organs generally must be the earliest and 
simplest of all our elementary perceptions. 

These perceptions, however, can only be of a purely 
subjective nature. To the infant consciousness no ex^ 
ternal world, no bodily organism is yet in existence, so 
that no tension of the muscles could be attributed to 
this source. 

The passage from internal to external perception is 



130 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

formed by means of motion. All muscular action is 
accompanied by motion. The motion of the eye or of 
the hand soon reveals a number of phenomena, which do 
not take the form of a succession, but of a combination 
of experiences strictly co-existent ; for the motion of the 
organs, it should be observed, is so rapid in its nature, 
that each impression remains long after the next has 
succeeded ; and the systematic recurrence of them all, 
without any exertion of will or effort on our own part to 
produce them, gives to them still further the fixed 
character of co-existent positions. 

This multiplicity of co-existent phenomena, then, we 
cannot attribute to the mind itself, since it has no 
relationship whatever with purely mental phenomena. 
We are obliged, therefore, to think it as existing out of 
ourselves, and we thus gain what is really the first germ 
of the perception of extension or space. The elements 
of this perception, accordingly, are simply a number of 
co-existent points, which will not blend into one undi- 
vided image, but which remain standing, in perpetuity, 
grouped by the side of one another. 

So far we advanced in the former chapter; we have 
next to see how this elementary form of space-perception 
develops into the perception of lines, surfaces, figures, 
and, lastly, into the perception of body. 

We begin, then, with the perception of a line. This 
is produced by motion in its simplest form. The eye or 
the hand moves along from one point to another, and at 
every instant a new phenomenon is presented. These 
phenomena all leave residua behind them, so that the 
whole series can be reproduced together, and thus 
assume the character of a continuous and co-existent 
series. This series of co-existent phenomena, then, is 
the basis on which the perception of the line rests ; for, 
as the organ is ever in motion, it must be constantly 



FURTHER DEVELOPMENT OF THE SPACE-PERCEPTIONS. 131 

passing along series of this nature, and, in process of 
time, the mind will disregard the actual phenomena, 
individually considered, and abstract what is common to 
them all, namely, the linear form which they alike assume. 
A line, therefore, can hardly be called a perception, in 
the strict sense of the word ; it is, rather, the common 
element in every continuous series of phenomena, a 
contiguous row of points, when the points become the 
mere symbol of phenomena which no longer occupy the 
mind individually. 

The perception of a surface is produced by motion of 
a more complicated kind. The eye and the hand alike 
have the power of moving in every direction. Each 
movement from one point to another generates the per- 
ception of a line, and the lines thus described cross one 
another in all directions, as the motion of the organ 
varies. Thus we form a kind of web or network of 
impressions, which fulfils the condition of producing 
some sensation at any given point whatever. Such a 
network we term a surface, for the surface differs from a 
given measurement of space by being filed with the 
material of perception, at every single point. 

The next of our space-perceptions which demands 
explanation is that of figure. Figure is a bounded 
surface. Where there is, in relation to the visual 
consciousness, perfect uniformity of colour, no figure 
can exist, because no boundary can be distinguished. 
The eye, in passing over a given surface, is suddenly 
arrested by some change in the character or colour of 
that surface. It is at once thrown back by this obstacle, 
and moves in another direction, until the same thing 
occurs on the opposite side. As soon as the eye can 
travel all round the boundary thus formed, there is 
a figure cut out of space, which presents itself to us 
as a definite perception. The perception of figure* 

k 2 



132 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

therefore, depends on motion, as well as all the other space- 
perceptions. The eye at rest cannot, strictly speaking, 
see form at all ; it is only conscious of it by moving 
round the boundary, and noting how the whole figure is 
cut out from the circumjacent space or surface. 

Let any one try the experiment for himself; let him 
look at a peculiarly shaped house, or tree, or mountain, 
and attend to the process by which he takes in and 
realizes the figure presented. He will find that his eye 
is secretly travelling all round the limits, and that it is 
only when it has done so sufficiently that the figure is 
truly realized. Even smaller forms, which we appear to 
see at once, are really apprehended in the same way, 
although the motion of the eye is more difficult of 
detection in such cases. 

We are now prepared to pass on to the perception of 
body. Here a new element is introduced. The line has 
only one dimension. Figure and surface have two. 
Body has three dimensions, and requires, as we shall see, 
something more than the mere motion of the eye to 
generate it. We already showed that the primary sense- 
perceptions we experience are those of muscular tension. 
This tension gives rise to motion, and motion, free and 
unimpeded in any or every direction, generates the per- 
ception of lines, surfaces, and figures. In the course of 
these experiences, we become familiar with phenomena 
viewed as objects out of and apart from ourselves. Now, 
we will suppose that the motion we have already regarded 
as free and unconstrained is arrested. The hand, which 
is accustomed to move freely in space, strikes against 
some obstacle. Here a new experience is produced. 
The muscular tension, of which we have been conscious 
from the first, passes over to the feeling of resistance, 
and this feeling of resistance is accompanied with the 
perception (perhaps by the eye) of an objective phe- 



FURTHER DEVELOPMENT OF THE SPACE-PERCEPTIONS. 133 

nomenon. Put the two experiences together, and we 
have a surface out of and apart from ourselves, which is 
accompanied with the feeling of resistance to muscular 
effort. 

Two things are thus brought to light in connexion 
with one another. The first is, the perception of a 
resisting medium out of ourselves ; and the second is, 
the perception of our bodily organism as being a 
medium of this nature, only under the control of our 
own will. The perception of body, then (whether 
our own or otherwise), arises from the feeling of 
resistance to muscular effort, accompanied by the percep- 
tions of surface and figure already acquired ; and every 
form in which body is known is made up strictly of 
these few simple elements. Whether the objects pre- 
sented be hard or soft, rough or smooth, elastic or non- 
elastic, they all are known by different kinds or degrees 
of resistance, accompanied with the perception of lines, 
surfaces, and figures external to ourselves. This primary 
knowledge of body acquired through the perceptive 
faculty, we need hardly say, does not involve any idea of 
substance, which is an abstraction formed afterwards by 
more purely intellectual processes. 

We may just remark, in conclusion, that the develop- 
ment of all these perceptions takes place strictly in 
accordance with the fundamental law of all mental 
activity — the law of attraction and repulsion. It is by 
the law of attraction that similar phenomena blend into 
one image in the consciousness. It is by the law of 
repulsion that unlike phenomena repel each other, and 
form distinct objects of perception in time and space. 
It is by the law of mutual attraction that our great 
typal perceptions are all formed and fixed in the con- 
sciousness ; it is by the law of repulsion that we are 
compelled to project unlike phenomena out of the 



134 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE PERCEPTION. 

consciousness, and hold them before us as distinct objects 
which will not blend by any possible process of associa- 
tion. But for the law of repulsion, no perception of 
space could ever exist; for the mental phenomena on 
which it depends would not be held apart so as to form 
a surface of co-existent parts. But for the law of assi- 
milation, we should be for ever engaged in the per- 
ception of individual objects, instead of uniting them 
into general forms and classes. Up to this point, there- 
fore, we are able clearly to trace the genesis of our 
primary and fundamental perceptions, and that, too, in 
distinct accordance with the great fundamental law, 
which we showed to underlie all our mental operations 
from the very lowest to the highest and most mature. 



CHAPTER X. 

THE MEASUREMENT OF SPACE. 

We have now traced the formation of all the space- 
perceptions properly so-called — i. e. y first, of extension 
generally ; then of lines, surfaces, figures ; and, lastly, of 
body. All these, we have seen, are really acquired per- 
ceptions ; but they are acquired so early, and by such 
an incalculable number of experiences, commencing 
from our earliest infancy, that they have often been 
taken for innate ideas. 

We come next to the measurement of space— that is, 
to the perception of direction, of size, and of distance. 
In these cases it is by no means so difficult to trace the 
process of fojynation as in the last ; and the dependence 
of all our judgments in respect to them upon a body of 
acquired experience becomes far more manifest and 
indisputable. We know, for example, that we can 
perceive the size and distance of objects far better where 
we have been accustomed to observe them than where we 
have not. A man, for example, accustomed to a 
level country cannot judge either of the size or distance 
of natural objects when he first travels amongst moun- 
tains ; neither can a landsman judge of them at sea 
with the same accuracy as a sailor. It is only where 
habit and frequent trials have rendered it easy that our 
perceptions either of the one kind or the other approach 
anything near to accuracy. 

Moreover, we have the means of making special 



136 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE PERCEPTION. 

experiments, that do not leave any doubt as to the 
acquired nature of all such perceptions. Cases have 
occurred in which the blind have been almost suddenly 
restored to sight. In every instance of this nature there 
appears a total incapacity to judge either of size, distance, 
or figure. Objects seem at first to touch the eye j and 
an entire landscape appears only like a variegated 
surface unrolled before it. Even children, though they 
are accustomed to use their eyes from birth, are for 
a long time incapable of measuring size or distance. 
They grasp at things a long way off as though they were 
near, and take their apparent smallness as though it 
were real. Multitudes of observations and experiments 
of this nature offer familiar illustrations of the fact, that 
our perceptions of direction, size, and distance are 
not innate, but have to be gradually acquired. 

1. We begin with the perception of direction, which 
is by far the most simple and elementary judgment of 
the three. It has generally been maintained by physio- 
logists that we judge of the relative position of objects, 
say in a landscape, by means of the muscular feelings 
which are experienced in turning the direction of the 
eye from one point to another. That this, however, is 
riot a complete account of the causes which are in opera- 
tion, is pretty clearly seen from the facility with which 
we judge of the relative position of objects, even in a 
very extended field of vision, without any muscular effort 
at all being made in order to change the direction of the 
pupil. The researches of Dr. Serre have shown that we 
always perceive the different objects which lie in our 
field of vision, in lines of direction drawn from the 
corresponding parts of the retinal image, to a given 
point lying a little behind the crystalline lens, — the 
point, namely, at which all the axial rays cross each 
other. In this way every point in the extended surface 



THE MEASUREMENT OE SPACE. 137 

of the retina becomes associated with some given direc- 
tion, and every object which is perceived upon any given 
point in it is instinctively located accordingly. Various 
experiments combine to prove the accuracy of this view. 
For example, when a person is operated upon for 
squinting, and the direction of one of the eyes is 
changed from its accustomed position, he always sees 
objects double for a time. The corresponding points on 
the retina of the two eyes, which had come to be asso- 
ciated with a given direction, do not now coincide, so 
that one eye locates the object in one place, and the 
other eye in another. The consequence of this of course 
must be a twofold image of the object itself. This 
result usually lasts until the associations have time to 
be reconstructed ; so soon as this is accomplished, single 
vision is again restored. It is precisely for the same 
reason that a person pretty far gone in intoxication sees 
things double. The effect of intoxication, while it lasts, 
is to deprive the motor nerves of the control they usually 
exercise over the muscles. Hence a drunken man 
cannot walk straight, and if he uses his arm and hand 
for any purpose, the motion is unsteady and uncertain. 
In the same manner he loses control over the muscles 
which regulate the movements of the eye-balls in the 
socket, so that the axis of vision in the two eyes does not 
remain parallel. The same result as we before explained 
consequently ensues ; objects of vision strike the two 
retinas upon points which do not correspond with each 
other, so that the one eye suggests one direction and the 
other eye another, and the phenomenon of double vision 
is again the natural result. The former of the experi- 
ments above mentioned is particularly instructive, inas- 
much as it not only shows the manner in which we 
judge of the direction of an object, but also proves that 
this judgment is formed by experience, and when 



138 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

disturbed by any cause, which alters the position of the 
eye, can again be restored by a new series of associa- 
tions. 

We may understand from this explanation the reason 
why we usually close one eye when we want to form a 
very accurate judgment as to the direction of any 
object, as in aiming with a gun, or judging of the even- 
ness of a line or surface ; for by closing one eye and only 
employing the other, we cut off all chance of being per- 
plexed by the discrepancy in the lines of direction pro- 
ceeding from two different points of sight — a discrepancy 
which is sure to exist in a minute degree from the fact 
of each eye locating every object somewhat further to 
the right or the left, as the case may be. 

2. We come next to consider the way in which we 
measure the distance and size of objects. What we 
have to show is this — That the sense of sight only 
acquaints us with apparent distance and apparent size ; 
that real distance and real size can only be known by a 
more complicated course of experience, in which the 
sense of touch and the results of motion combine their 
teaching with the laws of vision. 

Let us begin with the perception of distance ; and it 
will aid us in estimating the various means by which the 
distance of any object is estimated, if we regard the 
question first in connexion with monocular vision. The 
image, which a landscape, or a solid body throws upon 
the retina of a single eye, it is needless to say, is perfectly 
flat; all the rays of light, whether they come from a 
nearer or more remote part of the field of vision, being 
alike received on an even surface. The only difference 
observable is the difference of colour, and the greater or 
less clearness in the minute details of the objects per- 
ceived. Accordingly, had we no experience to guide us, 
we should have no notion whatever of the relative 



THE MEASUREMENT 'OF SPACE. 139 

distance of one part in relation to another. In the 
course of our life's experience, however, we have come 
gradually to know that certain lights and shades — a 
certain distinctness or indistinctness of detail — and 
certain peculiarities of form and outline — indicate a dif- 
ferent distance in the object perceived. More par- 
ticularly does our own movement to and from the objects 
around us give us a perpetual and hourly lesson in 
the estimation of distance, for we are always either 
approaching or receding from some object or other, 
whenever we are not absolutely at rest ; and the varia- 
tions of vision produced by the variations of distance are 
consequently being always illustrated and tacitly worked 
up into our mental experience. Hence, when we look 
at an object even with a single eye, the colours, shades, 
and forms presented to us are instinctively judged of in 
accordance with the experience already laid up in the 
mind; or, to speak more strictly in the language of 
psychology, they combine with similar residua already 
acquired, and produce in the consciousness of the 
moment a mental result made up of the present pheno- 
mena and the past, which taken together enable us to 
judge of the distance of the object, in ordinary circum- 
stances, with some approach to accuracy. 

We shall explain this view of the case by giving a 
number of experiments by which its correctness may be 
fully tested. Pew people, perhaps, from not having 
their attention directed to the subject, are aware how 
imperfect our perception of distances really is when they 
are judged of by a single eye. Let any one hold a pen 
or long knitting-needle at one extremity, and attempt, 
with one eye closed, to touch the point of another, held 
uprightly, with the other end, and he will almost 
assuredly fail until a few trials have enabled him to 
measure the distance. Dr. Carpenter proposes the 



140 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

following test: — "Suspend a certain ring in such a 
" manner as to present its edge, at a distance of four or 
" five feet from the eye, and then try to push sideways 
" through the hoop the curved handle of a walking- 
" stick held by the lower end. The odds/' he says, 
" are very large that success will not be attained when 
" one eye is closed until a succession of trials shall have 
" enabled the experimenter to measure the distance of 
" the ring by the muscular movement of his arm." 

There is another class of most interesting experiments 
which may be made, to prove how imperfectly we judge 
in monocular vision of the true solidity of objects, and 
how dependent we are in all such judgments upon the 
previous experiences from which we start. 

Take a common pasteboard mask ; paint the inside of 
it so as to make it resemble as nearly as possible the out- 
side ; and then, placing a person four or five feet before 
it, with his back to the light, hold up the concave side 
before him. If both eyes are open, he will at once see 
what the thing really is ; if one eye, however, is closed, 
there will be twenty chances to one that he will see it 
raised or projecting instead of concave. The reason is, 
that, not being able to measure the distances of the 
different parts with one eye, he will instinctively interpret 
the phenomenon presented according to his former expe- 
rience, and regard it as an ordinary mask. If the object 
be one which we have been accustomed to see as fre- 
quently on the concave as on the convex side, then expe- 
rience tells equally both ways, and we can see such 
objects either convex or concave, according as our voli- 
tion prompts us to imagine them at the moment. Again : 
if we take a mask, and attempt to convert the relief into 
its opposite concave, we cannot do so at all without first 
having become familiar with the latter, and then only 
with considerable trouble ; while, lastly, if we attempt to 



THE MEASUREMENT OF SPACE. 141 

turn a human face into the concave, we can positively 
never succeed, inasmuch as there is no experience what- 
ever to tell us what aspect such a thing would present. 

All these experiments, which any one can easily try for 
himself, most perfectly illustrate two things : — 1st, that 
in monocular vision we have no perception of distance 
at all, except what is formed by experience gained by the 
aid of the other senses ; and, 2dly, that our complex per- 
ceptions of objects are all formed as described in a former 
chapter, viz., by means of the blending of residua, which 
are recalled into consciousness by the presence of new 
phenomena, and then enter largely into the judgment 
which the senses form respecting them. 

There are some circumstances in which the defect we 
have pointed out in monocular vision becomes a help, 
namely, when it aids the delusion we wish to produce in 
representing a solid object upon a plane surface. It is 
known to most persons how much more life-like a good 
painting becomes when gazed at with one eye only ; and, 
in the case of good photographs, where the light and 
shade is very marked, any one may convince himself by 
a few trials that, looked at from a short distance with 
one eye, they assume all the solidity which is seen 
ordinarily only by means of the stereoscope. The more 
our experience has been already enriched by the real 
scenes which such sun-pictures represent, the more 
vividly do we see them in relief ; for every case of per- 
ception, as we have repeatedly shown, is a complex 
process, in which the already existing residua play a most 
important part. 

We come next to the perception of distance by means 
of binocular vision. When we look at distant or solid 
objects with two eyes, we judge far more readily both of 
their distance and their solidity than we do by one. This 
may, of course, be partly clue to the fact that we are more 



142 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

accustomed to see things with both our eyes than with 
one; so that the experiences we have of objects thus 
viewed is more extensive and precise. This, however, is 
not everything. When we look at any object at a little 
distance from us, the axes of the eyes are made to con- 
verge upon it. If the object be drawn nearer, the con- 
vergence is greater ; if put further off, the convergence 
is less, until after a time the two axes become virtually 
parallel. The alteration of the direction of the axes is 
performed by muscular contraction and dilatation, and 
the muscular feeling accompanying the change is un- 
doubtedly one element which enters into our perception 
of distance. The influence which such muscular feelings 
have upon our judgments will be illustrated more parti- 
cularly when we come to speak of the perception of size. 
Not that we know anything naturally respecting the 
alteration of the axes of two eyes, or ever take it con- 
sciously into account in judging of distance. All we 
mean is, that the muscular feelings accompanying such 
alteration become instinctively interpreted by experience 
into terms of distance by the observing mind. 

The principal means, however, by which we are 
enabled to judge of the distance and the solidity of 
objects in binocular vision is undoubtedly derived from 
the twofold image which is produced, — one on each eye. 
Many disquisitions have been written respecting the phe- 
nomenon of single vision by two eyes ; but, before the 
inquiries of Professor Wheatstone were published, it 
never seemed to occur to any one to ask what especial 
end this twofold vision really answered. Every one knows 
that the two eyes always give two different aspects of 
every object they gaze at. One eye sees it a little more 
on the right hand side, the other a little more on the left 
hand. Why these two images enable us to mark the 
distance and judge of the correct relief of objects placed 



THE MEASUREMENT OF SPACE. 143 

before us better than could be done by single vision, it is, 
perhaps, not easy to explain ; but such is undoubtedly 
the case. Professor Wheatstone, reasoning from this 
fact, concluded that if we could see two pictures of an 
object at once, and drawn exactly as they appear to each 
eye in binocular vision, they ought to blend into one, and 
that that one ought to appear perfectly solid as in 
nature. The practical result of this reasoning was the 
invention of the stereoscope, which verified the truth of 
the argument, and gave the most convincing proof, that 
it is by means of the double image that we are enabled 
to judge with the greatest accuracy of the distance and 
relief of objects placed before us. It does not follow 
that, even in the case of binocular vision, we proceed in 
our judgments by any intuitive mathematical rules. The 
most probable exposition of the case is this : — We learn 
by constant experience that there is only one form, viz., 
the solid, which can possibly give the two dissimilar pro- 
jections that are cast upon the eyes ; we consequently 
combine these two mentally into one by the law of 
similarity, and that one shows us the solid object itself, 
as perceived in ordinary vision. In this case, therefore, 
equally as in the case of monocular vision, the two phe- 
nomena actually presented merely suggest to the mind a 
certain reality, which differs in fact materially from either 
of them ; and it is only by the aid of its previous expe- 
rience that the mind adopts this reality, as being the 
actual fact of the case, and the true explanation of the 
phenomena presented. 

Various experiments tend to prove that the view we 
have just taken of the nature and grounds of the percep- 
tion of solid objects is the correct one. If the two 
pictures of an object designed for the stereoscope be 
reversed, so that the one adapted for the right eye be 
placed opposite the left, and vice versa, a number of 



144 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

singular results appear. If, e. g. f simple geometric pic- 
tures be so reversed, the effect is to reverse the figure 
itself to our perceptions ; so that a truncated pyramid, 
for example, which in the first instance would show itself 
in relief with the top advancing towards the eye, will in 
the second case present the interior, with the base towards 
the eye and the top receding. Here, since the mind is 
equally familiar with both forms, we can conceive of the 
one by means of the perspective lines actually presented, 
just as readily as the other. If we reverse the pictures of 
a statue, or a building, however, no conversion of relief 
takes place, clearly because the mind has no experience 
of such conversion, and therefore cannot accept it. If a 
cluster of objects, again, be presented on the stereoscopic 
slides, and they be reversed, their relative positions to- 
wards each other will be materially changed ; and, what 
is highly instructive to remark, an object partly hidden 
behind another in the picture itself will often be brought 
out in front ; and the mind will so readily supply the 
whole from the part actually described on the picture, 
that we are conscious of no mutilation or imperfection 
in the view r thus presented to us. Since, in the change 
which takes place in the relative position of the different 
objects, the object partly hidden ought to stand in front, 
where it can be hidden no longer, the mind actually 
supplies the concealed portion, and sees the thing w T hole, 
though it is really only partially represented on the paper. 
To carry on these experiments still further, Professor 
Wheatstone invented an instrument termed the pseudo- 
scope, which, by means of oblique reflectors, reverses 
the rays of light as we look through it, so that those 
which should enter the right eye enter the left, and vice 
versa. According to the mathematical theory of vision, 
everything which we look at through this instrument 
ought to appear reversed. But what is the fact ? " After 



THE MEASUREMENT OE SPACE. 145 

a great number of trials/' says Dr. Carpenter, "not 
only upon ourselves, but upon numerous individuals, 
both scientific and unscientific, imaginative and prac- 
tical, we have satisfied ourselves thoroughly as to the 
general fact, that the facility of conversion bears a pretty 
constant ratio to the relative familiarity of the original 
and converted forms. Thus, a cameo and an intaglio, a 
plaster-cast in relief and its mould, the exterior and 
interior of a metal blanc-mange shape, or any other 
object equally similar in its opposite reliefs, is at once 
unhesitatingly metamorphosed by the pseudoscope, each 
into its converse form. There is none of the doubt and 
alternation which attend this conversion under the 
monocular view of these objects ; we apprehend the con- 
verted form, just as strongly and persistently as we 
recognise the real form, with our unperverted pair 
of eyes. The only circumstance that can interfere with 
the illusion is the fall of shadow on the object ; and the 
light should therefore be so disposed as to illuminate it 
equally in every direction. Now, if we try the experi- 
ment on the interior of a mask, or of the plaster mould 
of a bust, we reproduce the projecting face with the 
greatest certainty and constancy ; but, if we look at the 
exterior of the mask, we have to gaze upon it, and 
perhaps to try to picture to ourselves the aspect of its 
interior before that converse presents itself; still more 
difficult is it to throw the features of a bust into 
the semblance of its concave mould, and we have never 
succeeded in effecting the like conversion upon the 
features of the living face, although Professor Wheat- 
stone informs us that he has succeeded in doing so after 
a fixed stare of more than half-an-hour. Now, the 
optical change is identically the same in its nature in 
every one of these cases, and there is nothing in the 
form of the features which refuses to present a converse, 

L 



146 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

this converted shape being actually presented by the mask ; 
but the mind which will admit the conception of the con- 
verted form when suggested by the inanimate mask or 
bust is steeled by its previous experience against the 
notion that actual flesh and blood can undergo such 
a metamorphosis. " 

3. The last point which remains to be explained is the 
manner in which we perceive magnitude. If we look at 
an object twenty yards off, and then approach ten yards 
nearer, the apparent magnitude is enlarged one half; if 
we approach five yards nearer still, the apparent magni- 
tude is four times greater than it was at first ; and yet, 
notwithstanding this, our mental judgment respecting 
the real magnitude remains precisely the same through- 
out. It is evident from this, that there is some method 
by which we correct mentally the difference in the appa- 
rent magnitude of objects when seen from different 
distances. 

This correction, in the case of more distant objects, is 
purely experimental. We judge by a variety of circum- 
stances what is about the distance at which the object 
stands from us, and, according to the estimated distance, 
we calculate instinctively what the real size ought to be. 
It is needless to say that these calculations are never very 
accurate, and are often disturbed by a great variety of 
causes. For example, on a very clear day, when a 
distant range of hills is remarkably distinct, we imagine 
it, from the very fact of its distinctness, nearer than 
it really is, and the estimated size diminishes accord- 
ingly. For the same reason, objects seen through a fog 
are rendered to our perceptions much larger, the esti- 
mated distance being greater. 

When we come, however, from distant to near 
objects, a new element of judgment comes into play. 
In viewing distant objects, the axes of the eyes are 



THE MEASUREMENT OF SPACE. 147 

virtually parallel, and no appreciable convergence takes 
place whether the object be brought a mile nearer or 
not. But, in a near object, the axes of the eyes must be 
brought to converge directly upon it, and, in proportion 
as it is brought nearer, the convergence must increase. 
This feeling of convergence is the principal element 
which enters into our judgments of magnitude in the 
case of near objects. To illustrate this, Professor 
Wheatstone has invented another most ingenious appa- 
ratus, in which, by means of a simple contrivance in 
connexion with his reflecting stereoscope, the eyes 
are made slowly to converge upon a picture, while the 
picture itself is kept always at the same distance. The 
result of the experiment completely proves the close 
relationship between the feeling of convergence or diver- 
gence in the axes of the eyes, and the perception of 
distance, and consequently of magnitude also. As the 
eyes, it will be understood, are made to converge by 
means of the angular change of the reflectors, the appa- 
rent size of the picture gradually diminishes ; while, in 
proportion as they are made to diverge, the apparent 
size swells out to extraordinary dimensions, the 
actual magnitude remaining all the while precisely 
the same. The whole process which takes place may 
be thus summed up : JPirst, by changing the angle of 
the reflectors in which the picture is seen, the eyes of 
the beholder are made to converge or diverge as the case 
may be ; this convergence or divergence is instinctively 
interpreted by the mind into terms of greater or 
less distance ; and then, lastly, the size of the objects is 
mentally adjusted according to the distance at which we 
imagine them to be placed. Here, accordingly, we see 
again the same two elements at work : 1st, motion, as 
the fundamental basis of all our perceptions, whether 
natural or acquired ; and, 2ndly, experience, which 

l 2 



148 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

reduces the changes produced by motion to certain 
instinctive rules, and tells us what effects we ought 
to expect to be produced by the motion in every given 
case. 

Thus, every individual perception in connexion with 
the measurement of space is really learned by expe- 
rience ; and the acquisition is made through the accu- 
mulation of those innumerable residua, which form 
the basis and mental tissue of the entire perceptive 
faculty. 



CHAPTER XL 

PEKCEPTION COMPLETED, 



We have now gone through all the various elements of 
which our perceptions consist. We have shown that 
they commence with the very first comparison we can 
make between two simple feelings ; for example, between 
two different states of muscular tension, or common 
sensation. After these come the perceptions, which are 
produced by means of the special senses. By the agency 
of motion (as being the common element of internal and 
external change) — motion connected with the eye and the 
hand, we pass from internal to external perception, i.e., 
we project the phenomena out of ourselves, and view 
them as extended, and, consequently, as occupying 
space. Starting again from this new experience, we 
go on to acquire all the more complicated space-percep- 
tions, those of lines, surfaces, figures, &c. Next, we 
add the various modes of resistance gained through the 
sense of touch, and, combining these with the space- 
perceptions, we form in this way the perception of body. 
After these come the various combinations by which we 
are enabled to measure space, i.e., to form the percep- 
tions of direction or position, of distance, and of magni- 
tude. We have shown, moreover, that all these per- 
ceptions are constructed, from the very first, by the 
regular addition of experience to experience, or, in 
other words, by the accumulation of residua, just in the 
same way as the organs of the body are formed by the 



150 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

addition of cell to cell ; and, finally, we have shown that 
the whole process of development takes place by the 
twofold law of attraction and repulsion ; that it is by 
the blending of similar residua that our more generalized 
perceptions are formed ; and by the refusal to blend, on 
the part of dissimilar residua, in connexion with the 
motion of the organs, that we are led to construct the 
notion of extension, and the space-perceptions generally. 

It is hardly necessary to say that, in ordinary life, we 
rarely or never experience any of these varied percep- 
tions alone; they crowd in upon us on all sides, and 
arrange themselves, for the most part, in clusters, as 
seen in the ordinary objects around us, distinguished by 
their manifold attributes. To understand, then, how 
the perceptive faculty is completed, we have now only to 
trace the mode in which these various elementary per- 
ceptions are combined, and how they give rise to the 
apprehension of those complex objects which form the 
material of our daily observation. 

And, first of all, we must point to the fact that, of 
all the perceptions above enumerated, those which come 
through the eye are the most vivid, and occupy, natu- 
rally, the most prominent place. Beside this, it is by 
means of the visual perceptions that the space-relations 
are most readily observed and estimated. Hence, when 
an object, with many attributes, is presented to us, the 
leading feature is that which is taken in and judged of by 
the sense of sight. It is this which places it before us, 
as an objective reality, apart from ourselves and our own 
mental feelings, and is, therefore, the centre around 
which all the other attributes cluster. After the visual 
perceptions come, generally, those which are communi- 
cated by the sense of touch. That is, after we have 
viewed the phenomenon presented as being a substance of 
a given size, shape, and colour, we next begin to judge of 



PERCEPTION COMPLETED. 151 

its hardness or softness, its bulk and solidity, &c. After 
this come its scent, its taste, and its power of producing 
sound. All these cluster around the visual attributes as 
their middle point, and form the complex perception of 
the entire object. 

These, however, do not by any means exhaust the 
elements which enter into the perception of most objects 
around us. In addition to the actual qualities which 
affect the senses at the moment, there is a number of 
other particulars supplied by the mind itself. The 
residua, connected by numerous associations with each 
particular cluster of qualities, are aroused, and brought 
anew into consciousness, and thus enter as elements into 
the whole complex result. 

Thus, to take an example, I will suppose that the 
object presented is an orange. Here the eye gives us, 
first of all, the shape, size, and colour, placing it before 
us as an objective reality ; the sense of touch next gives 
us its relative hardness and smoothness ; to this we add, 
lastly, the scent, and the taste, as invariable accompani- 
ments. But this does not exhaust the whole state of 
consciousness involved in the perception of an orange. 
We have the tacit perception, derived from experience, 
that the skin is of a certain texture and a certain colour 
internally ; that it contains juice, pips, and a number of 
thin integuments arranged in due order; that it is a 
fruit, and has grown upon a tree of a certain kind. 
Were any one of these particulars consciously wanting, 
the judgment that the thing before us is an orange could 
not be completed. 

In like manner, the distant view of a mountain, a 
church, or a house, awakens, in addition to what we 
actually see and experience, a vast number of other 
particulars connected with it, by means of past associa- 
tions, which at once enter into the whole perceptive 



152 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTION. 

process, and materially affect the result. Of such an 
extremely composite nature is the process of perception, 
when the mind has once become duly enriched and 
matured by experience. The mental activity, moreover, 
by which all this combination of elements is called up 
and presented to the consciousness as a complete cluster 
of qualities, is so rapid that it cannot be followed even 
by the closest observation, but only known by the final 
results. It is, in fact, only by a close analysis of the 
whole subject that we can detect the numerous portions 
of which so perfect and apparently undivided a whole is 
made up. 

Finally, it should be observed that every complete 
perception involves in it a proposition or assertion, 
contains tacitly a subject and a predicate, and answers 
to the formula, — This is an orange, this is a house, &c. 
Thus, just as every simple perception implies a com- 
parison with some other simple perception which has 
preceded it, and a tacit judgment that it belongs to 
some given class of sensational phenomena, so does 
every complex perception such as those just referred to 
involve a mental judgment, that this or that object 
belongs to some class of objects which we have before 
perceived, with a similar cluster of qualities of attributes. 
The whole of the attributes are thus co-ordinated and 
combined, so as to form a material whole. If any one 
of them is wanting, the judgment is in abeyance. Only 
when they are all there, even down to the most minute 
particular which goes to form a distinctive feature of the 
class, can the perception be completed, and the mental 
verdict pronounced. 

Our view of the perceptive faculty is now complete, 
and it will be by this time understood that it does not 
involve any peculiar mental operation essentially different 
from all others, but is simply the mind working accord- 



PERCEPTION COMPLETED. 153 

ing to its universal laws in this particular sphere of its 
intellectual development. Whatever is contained in 
thought, of however advanced a character, is contained 
germinally in perception. Perception involves in its 
unexpanded form all the elements of logical thinking; 
and the power of comparison and separation, of seeing 
similarities and judging differences, (in which, as we 
shall see, all logic consists,) is here already at work, 
forming the mental law which underlies all our intel- 
lectual operations, alike in their lowest and their highest 
sphere of action, 



PART III. 



NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 



CHAPTER I. 

RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN PERCEPTION AND 
IDEAS. 



In passing from the region of perceptions into that 
of ideas, we are by no means going into any new and 
distinct sphere of mental phenomena. There are no 
such sharply divided provinces in the human mind, and 
no chasms to cross in going from one department into 
the other. In tracing, step by step, as we have done, 
the process by which our perceptions are formed and 
developed, we have in fact been tracing, at the same 
time, the origin and genesis of our ideas ; for the only 
essential difference which can be set up between a 
perception and an idea is, that in the former case the 
actual object on which the mind is occupied is present 
to us, while in the latter case it is absent. 

This one point of difference we may easily show does 
not constitute any very wide distinction in the mental 
operations themselves. A person holds up an orange. 
According to the explanations made in our previous 
chapters, the perception of this orange includes a very 
complex process. It involves the perception of space, 
size, distance, colour ; the consciousness of something 
which has a certain smell, taste, and organic construc- 
tion ; and the classification, moreover, of the whole as 
being similar to other oranges which we have before 
seen, and which contain the same aggregate of qualities. 
Now let the person who holds up the orange take it 



158 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. * 

away. We no longer perceive it ; the mind is no longer 
occupied with a present reality ; but still the idea of it, 
which remains, is really composed of the very same 
elements as the perception which we had a few minutes 
before. The entire process which the mind has gone 
through from the first elementary perceptions up to the 
present moment, the whole mass of residua which have 
been accumulated, which have melted into generalised 
or typal forms, and which are ready to start back into 
consciousness at the behest of some new mental associa- 
tion, all enter now into the process of ideation, and go 
to constitute the idea itself with which the mind thus 
becomes occupied. 

Take any number of other illustrations, and the result 
will turn out precisely the same. I see a person with 
whom I am acquainted rapidly pass the window. My 
perception of him is composed not of the hasty glance 
I obtained, but of the whole mass of former experiences 
which have been fused, as it were, to form my general 
view of his personality, and which are now awakened by 
the momentary impression I received, as he passed along. 
So soon as he is gone, however, this image which is 
called up in my mind is no longer termed a perception, 
but an idea. Where, then, is the distinction between 
them? Simply, that in the latter case the exciting 
sensation is wanting. With this simple difference, the 
perception and the idea are at present identical.* 

In the common use of language the two terms, — 
perception and idea, — are in fact often interchanged. 
We speak of the perception we have of a man's character, 
though there is no sensation at all implied; and we 
speak in like manner of the idea we entertain of such or 

* In German they are botli indicated by the same term, 
namely, Vorstelhmg. 



RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN PERCEPTION AND IDEAS. 159 

such an object, though it is at the very moment present 
to our view. The real material, so far as the mind is 
concerned, is the same, whether we speak of perceptions 
or ideas ; and it is on this account that the terms are so 
easily confounded in popular use. 

At the same time, the distinction between perceptions 
and ideas, at first so small, tends afterwards to widen 
more and more. Perception places the thing perceived, 
as a whole, before the mind, and keeps it there. When 
the perception is wanting, the mind left to its own 
operations, dwells upon some of those prominent points 
which have more especially drawn its attention, while the 
object was actually in view, and which now consequently 
form the chief element in the idea, to the exclusion of the 
other and less prominent phenomena. The idea can 
thus in process of time depart further and further from 
the original perception, and at length become wholly 
confined to those particular attributes which formed the 
leading features in the phenomenon as originally per- 
ceived. In perception, the elements are all held together 
in one general view — in ideation they tend to separate, 
and thus give rise to what we term abstract ideas. In 
the perception, therefore, the law of attraction is in the 
ascendancy ; in the idea the law of separation comes 
into play, and the abstracting process begins. 

The fact which we have now demonstrated, that, 
namely, of the close relationship subsisting between our 
perceptions and ideas, is of considerable importance in 
the further analysis of our mental operations. The 
question regarding the origin and genesis of our ideas 
has always been at once the most difficult and the most 
important in the whole range of mental philosophy. 
The two extreme views which have been held on this 
question are well known to all who have paid any atten- 
tion, however small, to metaphysical subjects. On the 



160 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

one hand, we have the theory of innate ideas, so firmly 
and unanswerably refuted by Locke. On the other 
hand, we have the materialistic or purely sensational 
theory, which regards our ideas simply as the relics of 
our sensations — impressions left upon the brain, and 
through that on the consciousness, by the external 
objects which have affected them. 

Up to the present point in our analysis we have 
shown that there is no trace of such a thing as an 
innate idea. Just as every organized existence in nature 
has from its very germ a constitution of its own which 
corresponds to the world without — so, also, has man, 
even if we go down to the very first cell in his organic 
structure. The co-operation of the original human 
element with the powers of nature around us develop a 
bodily frame, a nervous system, and a cerebral mass, 
which is but the outward and palpable representation 
and medium of a corresponding mind-force ; and it is the 
mutual action and reaction of this human constitution 
with the nature environing it which calls forth our 
mental activity, and gives birth to all the primordial 
mental phenomena. We have already traced the growth 
of the mind from this point onwards ; and now that we 
come into the region of ideas, we have to do with the 
very same materials, only connected with a somewhat 
higher form of mental operation, and dissociated alto- 
gether from the immediate influence of sensation. 

If, however, on the one hand, we find no trace of 
innate ideas, so, on the other hand, can we with equal 
certainty set aside the opposite doctrine, — that our ideas 
are but the relics of our former sensations. Sensations 
leave no relics behind them. They come, they are expe- 
rienced, and they pass away never to be renewed. No 
sensation can ever be recalled. The memory of a pain or 
a pleasure is not the pain and the pleasure itself. Our 



RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN PERCEPTION AND IDEAS. 161 

sensations, as we showed, are comparatively few in hind. 
They consist only of the elementary functions of the five 
senses, and nothing more. It is the mental operations, 
which gradually ensue upon these sensations, which give 
them all their variety, and make them the starting-point 
for all our knowledge. Hence it is not the sensation 
which is prolonged, which leaves a permanent impression, 
and which enters into our subsequent ideas, — it is the 
perception connected with it, which alone has this power 
of persistency and reviviscence. The prolonged image, 
the relic, the persistent impression, which sensational 
philosophers speak so much of, is, in fact, not the 
product of mere sensation at all, — it is the product of 
perception — the product, that is, of the mind's free activity 
in connexion with the stimulus of nature from without. 

The question of the origin of our ideas, therefore, so 
far as these have yet come before our attention, is 
narrowed to very small limits. They are neither born 
within us, nor are they impressed upon us from without ; 
they are simply the product of the mind's free activity, 
operating in connexion with the world around. 

It is true that all our ideas do not lie so close to our 
perceptions as in the instances above cited. The mind 
once freed from the actual presence of the object which 
engages its attention, proceeds to operate more and 
more independently, to form new connexions, and enter 
into new combinations. By the power of imagination, 
on the one side, it may mould its materials into the 
most fantastic shapes ; and, by the aid of abstraction, on 
the other side, may give them a more and more gene- 
ralized character. But, as we shall hereafter show, all 
this is but a new example of the same mental laws, — 
those laws, too, dealing still with precisely the same 
materials as we have already become familiar with ill the 
region of perception itself. 

M 



CHAPTER II. 

ACTION AND REACTION OF IDEAS. 

The mind being a perfect unity, it can only entertain 
one idea at the same moment. It can pass, indeed, 
with inconceivable rapidity from one perception, motion, 
thought, or feeling to another, and thus range over a 
whole field of ideas before we have time consciously to 
note its movements. With all this, however, it can 
never be occupied, strictly speaking, with more than one 
idea at a time. 

For the proof of this, we can appeal to the testimony 
of our own experience and observation. Thus, it is per- 
fectly easy to think of a cube and a sphere alternately ; 
but we cannot have our consciousness occupied with both 
at the same instant. As soon as the one comes in, it 
immediately excludes the other. It is perfectly easy, 
again, to think of a lion and an elephant alternately ; 
nay, we can even think at one and the same moment of 
what is common to both ; but we cannot have the idea of 
a lion and the idea of an elephant, in so far as they differ, 
actually present to the consciousness at the same instant. 
Our ideas, in fact, always take the form of a series ; i. e. } 
they appear before us not contemporaneously, but in 
succession. Hence we speak of the flow of conscious- 
ness, to designate the successive stream of mental pheno- 
mena, which come and go, and make way one for 
another, in the daily fact of life. 

Keeping, then, in view the unity of the human mind, 



ACTION AND REACTION OF IDEAS. 163 

let us suppose that two ideas are simultaneously pre- 
sented to it, and then mark what is the result. The two 
ideas presented are either like or unlike. If they resemble 
each other, the law of similarity (which applies equally to 
our ideas as to our perceptions, and leads, as we shall 
show again, to very important results) comes into play, 
and causes them to blend together into one composite 
idea. In this form they can then occupy the conscious- 
ness at the same time ; not, however, as two ideas, but as 
one. 

But if the two ideas presented are not alike, and resist 
the tendency to blend into one general form, then the 
stronger of the two represses the weaker, and drives it 
out of consciousness, so that it becomes simply a 
residuum, while the former occupies the consciousness of 
the moment, until displaced in its turn by something 
else. This contest of ideas for the mastery closely re- 
sembles the relationship of forces as expounded in the 
science of dynamics. Here are two mental forces, striv- 
ing for the occupation of the consciousness. If they are 
similar, and act in the same direction, their results are 
combined. If they are opposed, then the one overcomes 
the other ; but, in doing so, it loses a portion of its own 
power equivalent to that which it displaces. This is 
shown by the fact, that an idea is felt just so much the 
more vividly the less the mind is occupied at the time 
with other interests. Thus any new idea has very little 
effect upon the mind of a person who is deeply occupied 
in some absorbing subject or pursuit ; the force it has to 
overcome ere it can command the consciousness at 
all is so great, that, by the time it comes up to the 
surface, its own effect is proportionally diminished. On 
the other hand, every one must have noticed the 
extreme sensibility which perfectly unoccupied persons 
usually have for trifling cares and annoyances, and 

m 2 



164 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

the tendency of mental vacuity generally to produce 
hypochondriasis. 

If we look next to the idea that is repressed and driven 
from consciousness, we find that it is not destroyed, but 
only transformed into another mode of existence ; just as 
one force, according to the doctrine of correlation, is 
transformed into another, but never lost. Instead 
of being a present idea, it becomes a residuum, repre- 
senting a certain latent disposition or tendency in the 
mind, which is exactly proportioned in strength to the 
energy and power of the original idea. This kind of 
inward struggle of ideas is constantly going on within 
us, and the laws by which it is regulated are the laws 
which guide the whole flow of our consciousness. No 
idea, in brief, can possess the mind without having suffi- 
cient strength to overcome all resisting forces ; and every 
idea, in overcoming these forces, loses a portion of its 
own strength, equivalent to the resistance which it has to 
overcome. 

To illustrate this, let A, B, C, D represent four suc- 
cessive ideas ; and let a, b, c, d represent their corre- 
sponding residua. A first occupies the mind, but B 
succeeding, and possessing a greater amount of power, 
suppresses A, and converts it into its corresponding 
residuum a. In doing this, B loses a part of its force, 
so that when C arises, B is in its turn suppressed, and 
converted into b. C, however, not only affects B, but 
acts still further back upon the residuum a. Every fresh 
idea which occupies the mind weakens all the dissimilar 
residua, and makes their tendency to reproduction less 
strong and active. Lastly, D pursues the same course, 
converts C into c, and weakens still further both a and b. 
To generalize this explanation, we may put it in this 
form : — " Everything which we hold in our memory is 
gradually weakened by all the other dissimilar ideas which 



ACTION AND REACTION OF IDEAS. 165 

occupy the consciousness?' It is not time (as many erro- 
neously suppose) which weakens memory. When a person 
is thrown into a state of insensibility by accident or other- 
wise, he usually, on recovering, takes up the thread of 
ideas just where it was left off, without the least weaken- 
ing of their impression being visible. It is the other 
dissimilar ideas, which occupy the mind in succession, 
that cause all our residua to lose their fresher hue. This 
result cannot in any case be possibly prevented, except 
by searching out cognate ideas, and thus renewing the 
impression of the one we w<ish to retain, so as to 
strengthen its tendency to recurrence. 

Many important practical lessons may be deduced 
from this doctrine respecting the rising and sinking 
of our ideas. There are some things which we wish to 
forget — some residua which we are anxious to erase 
from the mind. So long as the mind is surrounded 
w 7 ith cognate or otherwise associated ideas, this is impos- 
sible. Everything, while this is the case, calls up the 
thought, we would banish, afresh into the memory, and 
at each new reappearance, the disposition still to recur 
becomes stronger and stronger. On the other hand, if 
the mind is carried away into new scenes and new asso- 
ciations, each fresh impression weakens the dissimilar 
residua, and then the tendency to recurrence must 
gradually fade away, overcome by the united strength of 
new ideas. 

There are some things, on the other hand, which we 
are anxious to remember, but which we find it very 
difficult to retain. Every one has experienced the 
readiness w T ith which the most familiar things fade away 
from the memory when there is nothing to remind us of 
them. We travel, for example, in a new country, and 
become perfectly cognisant of all the places we pass 
through ; but we return home, and in a year or two 



166 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

we can hardly remember a third part of the names 
or characteristics of those very spots which seemed for a 
time as familiar to us as our own neighbourhood. We 
study a technical science — such as botany; while 
engaged in it, the name of every plant seems as fami- 
liar to us as the household furniture of our own rooms. 
But we lay the study on one side ; a year passes away, 
and the names can then only be recalled with the 
greatest difficulty, and, perhaps, often not at all. We 
wonder to see an uneducated gardener retaining such a 
mass of botanical terms and designations. The reason 
is, that he is always occupied in such a way as to 
suggest them perpetually to his mind ; so that the 
residua are kept ever fresh, instead of being weakened 
by a series of totally dissimilar impressions. The great 
secret of remembering is to keep the impression of a 
thing ever fresh — to revert to it, however little, every 
day. In default of this, the very laws which regulate 
our ideas must cause it to fade away into the realms of 
oblivion, only to be recalled by some extraordinarily 
powerful link of association, whenever such may happen 
to arise. 

Another important application of the law of residua 
above explained, is the provision which it makes for 
securing a constantly fresh recurrence of ideas, and thus 
giving tone and variety to the mind. Sometimes a very 
forcible idea strikes and haunts us. The thought of 
something disagreeable, which either has happened or is 
going to happen, takes firm hold of the consciousness, 
and it seems for a time as though nothing would drive 
it away. There is scarcely anything more powerful than 
such an experience, so long as it lasts ; and, were there 
no provision for freeing the mind from such spectres in 
its own thoughts, life itself would become a burden too 
heavy to bear. 



ACTION AND REACTION OF IDEAS. 167 

The mental process by which these harassing ideas 
are removed is something of the following kind. We 
are surrounded by circumstances. Men, things, human 
life, nature, all present themselves at every turn to 
our senses. For an idea to take possession of the mind, 
it must be strong enough to overcome all these resisting 
forces, and, for a time, it does overcome them; but, 
in overcoming tliem, it is constantly losing an equivalent 
portion of its own strength and vigour ; until at length, 
in process of time, it becomes unequal to the task of 
keeping the uppermost place, and sinks down beneath 
the surface of our consciousness, allowing the current 
of daily impression to ripple over it. Thus, however 
strong an impression may be — however tremendous its 
import, it cannot long challenge the mind's whole atten- 
tion. It is eaten away, if we may so speak, by innumer- 
able minor objects of interest, and our ordinary equili- 
brium is soon restored. A very strong association may, 
of course, at any time bring it back again, but only 
to suffer for a second time, and that much more rapidly, 
the same fate as before. 

When an idea really remains fixed in the conscious- 
ness, proof against all these counteracting influences, 
and has the power to draw everything else to itself, the 
result is insanity. Fixed ideas are the most frequent 
symptoms of incipient monomania, and are the sure 
indications that there is some disease preying upon the 
mind which prevents the normal working of the laws we 
have just explained. 



CHAPTER III. 
BLENDING OF IDEAS. 



We must go back once more to the point from which 
we started in the last chapter, namely, the essential 
unity of the human mind, and the consequent impossi- 
bility of its possessing two different states of conscious- 
ness at one and the same instant. One result of this 
has been already explained and followed out — that, 
namely, in which the mind has to deal with dissimilar 
and incompatible ideas ; and we have had occasion 
to notice the beneficent working of the law of the 
mutual action and reaction of such ideas in giving fresh- 
ness and variety to our daily life, and securing a steady, 
unceasing flow of new impressions. 

We come now to the case in which the mind has 
to deal with ideas that are not dissimilar, and not 
incompatible with each other. Here the principle of 
mutual exclusion does not take place, but, instead of 
this, we find a blending together of the similar elements 
in each, and a consequent tendency to unite the multi- 
plicity of our mental phenomena under general heads or 
classes. Thus, as the former chapter exhibited the 
working of the law of repulsion in connexion with our 
ideas, and the tendency of this law to produce infinite 
variety ; so, in the present chapter, we must exhibit the 
law of attraction, and show how it, on the other hand, 
tends perpetually towards unity. 

The law by which similar ideas blend together into 



BLENDING OF IDEAS. 169 

one general form is, of course, merely an extension, 
or carrying out, of the law of similarity, which we 
showed to be so fruitful of important results in the case 
of our perceptions. Just as it is by the blending of 
similar perceptions that our generalized or typal percep- 
tions of objects are gradually formed; so it is by the 
blending of similar ideas, or rather of the elements of 
similarity existing in them, that our more general ideas, 
and many of our more spontaneous opinions, are con- 
structed. 

And first with regard to general ideas. These have 
been usually treated of in connexion with the logical 
faculty, and been considered as belonging wholly to the 
peculiar sphere of abstraction and generalization. The 
mode, however, in which we now view the mental 
faculties — as being simply developments of a few 
fundamental intellectual instincts — shows us, that the 
processes of abstraction and generalization really exist in 
a natural and spontaneous form, at a very early period 
of our mental history, and that the very same law 
of combination, by which they are effected, runs through 
the whole range of our mental phenomena. Thus, in 
the development of our perceptions there is a latent pro- 
cess of classification always going on. The blending of 
similar elements insensibly generalizes our mode of 
viewing actual objects, even when present to the senses ; 
so that their mere presence awakens a mass of former 
experiences, which, combining with the experience of 
the moment, produces what we may term a generalized 
perception. 

These generalized perceptions form, in the next place, 
the material of our ideas ; for no sooner does the actual 
object disappear, than what was a perception becomes an 
idea, and constitutes an object of thought quite apart 
from any outstanding reality. As soon as ever the mind, 



170 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

then, becomes furnished with a sufficient number and 
variety of such ideas, the law of similarity begins anew 
its operation, and a blending of the elements, so far as 
they resemble and attract each other, again takes place. 

We may trace this blending together of similar ideas 
from a very early period, the combinations becoming 
larger, and the generality of them broader, in proportion 
as the mind grows up to maturity. The child, in its 
sports, generalizes, in the most naive fashion. The 
objects with which it is familiar, and which form the 
basis of its ideas, are the mother, the nurse, the teacher, 
other children, horses, carts, dogs, cats, and all the 
more attractive surroundings of infant life. The sports 
of the child are generally based upon the relations of 
these objects to itself or to others. All its notions of 
childhood, for example, are blended with the doll. The 
ideas of the mother, nurse, teacher, are personified in 
play with other children. The idea of the horse is 
embodied in the stick on which he rides, or the log of 
wood which he fastens to his waggon. All these endless 
natural imitations of real life show that the experiences 
of the child, and the simple ideas it forms out of them, 
are beginning to combine into more general conceptions 
of men and things, and their mutual relations to each 
other. 

As we grow older the range of our experience enlarges. 
All the elements of perception are formed into simple 
ideas, and these simple ideas tend more and more to 
merge into more complex and general ones. We think, 
perhaps, of a river. Of what does the idea expressed 
by the word river consist? Not of any single stream, 
but of an indefinite number of river-ideas, which have 
formed themselves out of the past experiences of our- 
selves and other people. The individual details, which 
differ in each case, sink away into the region of residua, 



BLENDING OF IDEAS. 171 

or combine, perhaps, with other residua, with which 
they may have some affinity, while those elements which 
are similar, and which reappear in the case of all rivers, 
combine now with each other, and melt into one general 
idea. 

In giving this description of the spontaneous formation 
of one general idea we are really giving the description 
of them all. All the myriads of notional words of 
which language consists are but the natural signs or 
symbols of such ideas. No one can suppose that the 
general terms we hourly use, such as house, tree, animal, 
stone, &c, have been constructed according to any 
conscious laws of predication. It is the spontaneous 
logic of the human mind which gives them birth. In 
this way the blending of what is common to an indefinite 
number of individuals at length results in a common 
idea, which idea is, with equal spontaneity, fixed by a 
word or a svmbol. Whether we consider the formation 
of our more general or typal perceptions, or the formation 
of general ideas, in either case the mind operates 
according to certain intellectual laws, but quite un- 
consciously. A principle of classification, an attraction 
of similar elements to each other, a complete blending 
of such elements into single ideas, all exist, and come 
into active operation, long before we have any power of 
comprehending or analyzing the process. It is only 
when the mind reaches that sphere of development in 
which the logical power is unfolded that it can under- 
stand the laws by which it has been long silently and 
unconsciously operating. 

The law of the blending of ideas may be traced, 
however, considerably beyond the mere formation of 
general notions. It also influences greatly our peculiar 
modes of thought, and the formation of our opinions. 
Abstract terms are formed primarily in the same way as 



172 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE IDEAS. 

general ones. Take the ideas expressed by the terms 
pity, love, anger, jealousy, &c, and consider what are 
the elements out of which they are formed. They all 
take their origin primarily from certain manifestations 
which we see in others or are conscious of in ourselves. 
These manifestations are very various, but, in the course 
of our experience, they blend together into a number of 
separate mental combinations, which are held together 
by the terms employed to express them. These combi- 
nations are enriched by others' experience as well as our 
own, by narratives, descriptions, analyses of character, 
&c, and become at length consolidated into general 
ideas by the attractive power which all similar elements 
have towards each other. It must not be supposed that 
abstract words, such as those above adduced, necessarily 
convey the same force to every mind. The force they 
acquire depends wholly on the peculiar combination of 
ideas as the symbol of which they stand, and will vary 
greatly in character, according to the mental experiences 
of each individual ; — a fact, we may observe in passing, 
of great importance in estimating the relations which 
subsist between language and thought. 

Not only is the force of words, however, determined 
greatly by the law of the blending of ideas, but a vast 
number of our opinions on social, moral, religious, and 
other questions are really formed by the tacit operation 
of the same principle. Thus the idea we entertain of 
death is really composed of the blending together of all 
the sombre accompaniments which usually attend it. If 
the mind be diverted from these, and dwell rather upon 
the brighter side of the picture, a totally different idea 
of it is gradually superinduced by the combination of 
new elements. The notions we attach to the term money 
is a highly complex one of this nature. All the uses of 
it blend together into the one concrete idea until it 



BLENDING OF IDEAS. 173 

become the basis perhaps not only of a great dominat- 
ing thought, but of a ruling passion as well. 

Habits and practices are variously judged in different 
countries according to the combination of ideas which 
gather round them. The fundamental fact of right and 
wrong we suppose already to exist as a distinct element 
of the consciousness ; this being the case, however, the 
mode in which we judge of actions, in reference either to 
the one or the other, depends greatly upon the law of 
mind we are now considering. Actions pretty nearly 
indifferent in themselves, as to their moral complexion, 
will often gather around them artificially such an accumu- 
lation of residua of one character or another that they 
may be regarded, on the one hand, as highly criminal, 
on the other hand as highly meritorious. 

More especially is this the case with moral and 
religious opinions which are more of a symbolical or 
ceremonial character. In Catholic countries, for example, 
all the highest religious ideas of the people at large blend 
together in the service of the Mass, and render that 
service sacred and awful ; while to a Presbyterian of the 
North nothing could possibly appear more puerile or 
empty. Conversely, to the latter, the idea of the Sabbath 
is associated with all that is severely holy; while the 
former regards it rather as a day of joy and a festival. 
Neither the one nor the other opinion in the mass of the 
people rests, it may be supposed, upon any large amount 
of rational conviction ; but they are both tacitly and 
unconsciously formed by the blending together of all the 
different ideas respecting religious obligation and rever- 
ence which gather round them as the centre. On this 
account it is very difficult in judging of opinions to put 
ourselves completely in the place of another. What is 
a bare and empty idea to us may be indissolubly joined 
with a thousand hallowed associations in others. 



174 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

Even our opinions of historical events are moulded by 
the blending of our ideas in connexion with them. There 
are few students, probably, of Roman history to whom 
the events of the early kingdom down to the fall of the 
Tarquins do not seem like real and familiar facts ; and 
even when the reason is convinced by the progress of 
historical criticism that this is not the case, yet we can 
hardly succeed, without doing some violence to our 
mental habits, in unravelling the web of ideas which 
have become blended together, and resolving the historic 
picture into its scanty original elements. These instances, 
however, only show the abuses of a beneficent law. The 
gathering up of the multifarious details of our mental 
experience into general heads and distinctive opinions 
has a value in it which infinitely transcends all the 
minor aberrations to which the general law is sub- 
jected. 



CHAPTER IV. 
ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 

The next point we have to consider is the principle 
which regulates the connexion and sequences of our 
ideas. There are multitudes of ideas which will never 
blend together into complex forms, but which, neverthe- 
less, group themselves into many different combinations 
and series. Not only does this grouping of ideas exer- 
cise a vast influence upon the character of our mental 
development, but the greater part of our experimental 
knowledge actually depends upon the establishment of 
such mental connexions. What we mean by experience, 
in the ordinary sense of the word, is the knowledge of 
the particular manner in which things are connected 
together in nature and human life. But, however closely 
things may be associated in nature, their association can 
be nothing, so far as our knowledge is concerned, until 
we have established a similar connexion between the 
corresponding ideas. The child puts his finger in the 
candle and is burned. The connexion between the 
flame and the injury had not yet established itself in his 
mind j the one idea consequently did not call up the 
other, and lead to any practical result. So soon as the 
connexion between them is established, we say that he 
has gained the knowledge of it by experience, and he 
acts accordingly. 

All associated ideas, however, are not connected with 
equal closeness and regularity. Some are connected but 



v 



176 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

slightly, others strongly, others invariably. Correspond- 
ing to these are the possibility, the probability, or the 
certainty, which we feel, of particular sequences taking 
place in the events around us. As, therefore, we have 
already gained a tolerably complete idea of the manner 
in which ideas blend into general or complex forms, we 
must now attempt to investigate the grounds of their 
external connexion, and the mode in which they form 
themselves into groups and series. We shall then have a 
nearly exhaustive knowledge of the relations of our ideas 
to each other ; for as the law of similarity lies at the basis 
of those internal processes by which our ideas are 
moulded into masses, and generalizations established 
amongst them ; so now from this new investigation we 
ought to gain a like insight into the formation of human 
experience, i.e., into the principles by which we connect 
events with each other through the association of their 
ideas, and then form practical judgments respecting their 
sequences for the future. 

A great deal has been written respecting the associa- 
tion of ideas ; and many attempts have been made to 
lay down and classify the laws by which it is regulated ; 
but these attempts have started, for the most part, from 
a purely objective point of view. The inner fact of 
association itself, — the psychological ground of it, — the 
interior mental working by which it is brought about, — 
these considerations, as far at least as English analysts 
are concerned, have been left wholly out of view. 

To gain further light, then, upon this part of our 
mental economy we must revert once more to the 
explanations already given respecting the action and 
reaction of ideas ; for it is here that the basis of all the 
phenomena of association really lies. Ideas in the mind, 
so far as they are incapable of blending together, are 
related to each other in the same manner as antagonistic 



ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 177 

forces. When one occupies the consciousness it can 
only be displaced by a second, on condition of the latter 
possessing for the moment a greater force ; and then this 
latter, in expelling the former from the consciousness, 
loses a portion of its own force equivalent to what 
it suppresses or destroys. Now the association between 
any two ideas in the mind is represented by the amount 
of force which the one has expended in order to repress 
the other. Two ideas which have never acted or reacted 
in any way upon each other, and which have never dis- 
placed each other in the consciousness, can have no inward 
connexion whatever. They stand wholly apart, and are 
bound together by no link of association. If, however, 
they have been brought into mental collision, the one dis- 
placing the other, and the latter perchance again gaining 
the upper hand and repressing the former one in its 
turn, then a close association is formed between them, 
which leads to their future connexion in the regular play 
of consciousness. 

Thus, if while gazing upon some particular scene, 
such as a mountain or a cathedral, the perception of it 
has been displaced by the sudden and unexpected 
appearance of a friend, an association will be established 
between the two ideas for the future ; and this association 
will be strong, exactly in proportion to the amount of 
force which has been expended either at one time or at 
different times in this mutual action and reaction upon 
each other. The strength of association, therefore, may 
in every case be stated as equal to the amount of the 
action and reaction of the associated ideas. 

We must look at this principle of association, how- 
ever, a little more in detail. 

The laws of association, objectively considered, are, by 
pretty general consent, admitted to be the following : — 
1. Similarity. 2. Contiguity in space. 3. Contiguity 



178 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE IDEAS. 

in time. 4. Logical affinity of the ideas. 5. The con- 
nexion of cause and effect. 

1. With regard to similarity, we know, from what 
has been before explained, that the primary tendency 
of all similar ideas is to blend into some general forms. 
Where simple ideas, indeed, are in question, this is 
perhaps uniformly the case. It so happens, however, 
that in mature years we have to deal chiefly with complex 
and composite ideas ; and these ideas are often so related 
to each other, that whilst there is some element of simi- 
larity in them, the other elements of dissimilarity are so 
great, that the ideas themselves cannot be wholly 
brought to blend. Take the case of a family likeness 
between two brothers. If the likeness is very great, as 
with the twins in the " Comedy of Errors," the ideas of 
the two objects or persons will blend together, and lead 
us to mistake one for the other. Bat in the great 
majority of cases the elements of dissimilarity prepon- 
derate, so that the two complex ideas remain distinct, 
the amount of similarity in the one remaining still a suffi- 
cient principle of association to recal the other. 

Now, we can here trace very distinctly the difference 
in the working of the two laws, — that of the blending, 
and that of the association of our ideas. In the former 
case the principle of attraction predominated, and 
moulded the two ideas into one. In the latter case the 
principle of repulsion predominated, and led to a struggle 
in the one idea to replace the other. The greater, too, 
the similarity between them, short of actual predomi- 
nance, the more vigorous will the struggle be. 

Similarity, therefore, viewed as a law of association, 
can only mean partial similarity, and the way in which 
it works is, that the two ideas strive to blend, but 
cannot ; they continue, therefore, alternately to displace 
each other, until a ground of association becomes in this 



ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 179 

way established between them. The same holds good ; 
also, in contrast. 

2. Things related to each other in space become asso- 
ciated together in idea. This is a very obvious and well- 
known fact. The place which is remarkable for any 
event, such as an accident or a murder, becomes so con- 
nected with that event, that we can hardly fail in future 
to think of them together. If, again, I think of Nelson's 
Monument in Trafalgar-square, I shall in all probability 
think of the National Gallery in connexion with it. Once 
more : if I think of the mother of a family, I shall natu- 
rally call up the memory of the children, and so forth. 
Now, what is the reason of this connexion? What is 
there in our inward mental operations which leads to 
this result ? The ground of the connexion, I reply, lies 
again in the mutual action and reaction of the two ideas. 
The idea of the place in which the murder was com- 
mitted has been displaced over and over again by the 
details of the act, the mind being drawn unconsciously 
from one to the other. My perception, and equally my 
idea, of Nelson's Monument has in like manner been 
often repressed by the next supervening idea of the 
National Gallery, or vice versa ; my thought of the 
mother has been displaced in consciousness by the 
thought of the children. Had the one of these sets of 
ideas never acted on the other, and never displaced it 
from consciousness, no connexion could have existed ; on 
the contrary, the more frequent and the more forcible 
these mutual actions and reactions have been, the closer 
is the future association established between them. 

It will be seen from this, that the strength of the con- 
nexion of any two ideas does not depend primarily upon 
the constancy of any local connexion in nature. Let us 
suppose that I have passed once, and only once, over the 
Menai Bridge, and, in passing, met a friend in the centre. 

n 2 



180 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

The strength of the mental association formed from this 
one coincidence between the Bridge and that friend will 
be just as strong as the association formed between it 
and the Britannia Bridge in the neighbourhood. The 
constancy of the two connexions in fact, of course, is 
wholly different ; but, as the one idea has withdrawn my 
attention from the Bridge as often as the other, the 
strength of the mental association in both is alike. If I 
go over the Bridge frequently, then, of course, the asso- 
ciation with the Britannia Bridge becomes the stronger, 
inasmuch as the accumulated force of the action and re- 
action of these ideas soon becomes far greater than in 
the other case. We may say, therefore, that things 
locally connected in fact, or in nature, tend to become 
more and more strongly connected in idea, and that this 
connexion is just in proportion to the frequency with 
which their mutual action and reaction as ideas has been 
brought into play. 

3. But, thirdly, things connected in time become also 
associated in idea. One of the most familiar instances 
of this is the act of learning a paragraph or a piece of 
poetry from memory. The words are read over, and 
pronounced successively many times, and exactly in the 
same successive order they are associated in idea. The 
reason is obviously the same as in the cases before stated. 
Each word, as read or pronounced, is forcibly displaced 
by the next, and by no other ; a connexion in idea is 
consequently, as before, the immediate result. In the 
same way we may explain the ideal connexion which 
establishes itself between events. I hear a bell rung, 
and see soon after a number of people going to church. 
My attention is drawn from the bell by the people ; 
there is an action of the one set of ideas directly 
upon the other. As a consequence of this, when I hear 
the bell rung again, I think of the people passing, and 



ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 181 

the expectation of seeing them pass is awakened in my 
mind by the connexion of the two ideas. The oftener I 
have seen this particular sequence, the stronger does the 
connexion of the ideas, and the stronger the expectation 
become. If the antecedent idea is sometimes succeeded 
by other consequents, the connexion of ideas is, of course, 
greatly interfered with, because a struggle will ensue to 
see which link of association is the stronger, and the 
mind will be divided between them. Sequences in nature 
are less interfered with by circumstances, and are more 
uniform in their connexion, than most other sequences. 
On this ground it is that their connexion in idea tends 
to become stronger than in any other cases. The natural 
connexion of events in time is per se no ground what- 
ever for the existence of any connexion in idea ; there 
are thousands of natural sequences of which we are wholly 
unconscious ; but, as such connexions more repeatedly 
and more uniformly strike the attention, they become 
in the same proportion more closely associated, and the 
expectancy of the one following the other is proportion- 
ably stronger. The association, therefore, follows the same 
law as before ; i.e., it is again determined by the amount 
of the action and reaction of the associated ideas. 

4. Ideas are associated together by virtue of some 
logical connexion. Here, again, it is not the mere fact 
of a logical connexion existing between any two ideas 
which produces association. An illogical mind, for ex- 
ample, will generally fail to perceive the connexion, until 
it is forced upon it. And even a strictly logical mind will 
be unconscious of any connexion between ideas, however 
closely related, until its attention has been directed to 
them. 

When we pass from one idea to another by a process 
of reasoning, then the one acts upon the other and dis- 
places it. The more direct the action, moreover, and the 



182 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

more immediate the conclusion drawn, the closer will the 
association be. The same law of association, therefore, 
still holds, namely, that which equates the strength of 
association with the mutually reactive power of the two 
ideas. 

5. The only law of association left is that of cause and 
effect. We have here nothing to do with causality as an 
intellectual idea. Whatever force or validity this idea 
may have, the association of events related to each other 
as cause and effect is quite independent of it. There 
are thousands of events, which are really so related, but 
which we never associate together. It is only in pro- 
portion as the progress of science brings them before our 
attention as sequences, that the association begins ; 
while, on the other hand, the association remains equally 
strong, whether they are found after all to be causatively 
related to each other or not. If I see a flash of lightning, 
I expect to hear a clap of thunder soon after. I have 
associated the two ideas in my mind as cause and effect, 
and the one accordingly calls up and leads to the ex- 
pectation of the other. There are many persons, how- 
ever, who never thought of the lightning as a cause of 
the thunder, but yet who have formed a mental associa- 
tion between them quite as strong as my own. The 
ground of the connexion in both cases is really the same, 
viz., the action and reaction of the two ideas, and the 
force with which the latter has repressed and occupied 
the place of the former. Thus, in every case of associa- 
tion alike, we have this same mental fact underlying the 
process. Whether the connexion be that of similarity, of 
time, of place, of inference, or of causality, still it is only 
in proportion as such connexion brings the ideas into 
collision with each other, and causes them to struggle for 
the possession of the consciousness, that any link of asso- 
ciation whatever can be formed between them. 



ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 183 

The final question, then, is, — How do similarity, conti- 
guity in time or place, logical and causative relationships, 
bring the connected ideas into collision, and then esta- 
blish mental association between them ? They do so, I 
reply, by forcing the mind's attention to concentrate 
itself upon them. I may see the same two objects 
together a thousand times, but if my mind is fully 
occupied, and my attention absorbed, no association is 
formed between them. 

I may see the same sequences occur as frequently as 
may be imagined, but if I never observe them attentively 
they will establish no connexion between each other in 
idea. So with logical inferences, and causes and effects. 
Attention is equally necessary in each case, and for the 
very same reason — namely, that without attention the 
ideas enter into no action or reaction, the consciousness 
being meanwhile occupied with some other subject 
altogether. The power of attention, then, is the primary 
ground of all association of ideas, for it is in proportion 
to the fixedness of our attention upon them that ideas 
come into collision with each other, and enter into a 
process of mutual action and reaction. But, while 
this is the case, the objective circumstances of time, 
place, &c, above considered, may be regarded as 
secondary grounds of association, inasmuch as they are 
naturally calculated to draw our attention to the objects 
related, and bring the ideas into collision with one 
another. Lastly, with regard to the sequence of events, 
we do not necessarily regard their connexion as possible, 
probable, or certain, according as their connexion is 
rare, frequent, or unvariable in nature ; but, since the 
accumulated action and reaction of the related ideas is 
greater in proportion to the frequency with which the 
one replaces the other, we draw these general con- 
clusions -.— 1. That frequency of connexion between any 



184 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

two events in nature tends to strengthen the mental 
association between them, and thus gives rise to the 
feeling that future occurrences in the same order are 
probable. 2. That uniformity of connexion, in the same 
way, tends to create an irresistible association between 
the ideas, and thus gives rise to the feeling of certainty 
in relation to their future sequence in the same order. 

We have only to point, in conclusion, to the fact that 
the whole doctrine of the association of ideas is reduced, 
by the above explanation, to the fundamental law of 
repulsion, to which we have before so often alluded. By 
the law of attraction our ideas blend into general forms, 
as shown in the former chapter ; by the law of repulsion 
they enter into antagonism with each other; and this 
antagonism becomes the ground of a mental association, 
by which they are held apart, and, at the same time, 
co-ordinated into groups and series, thus giving rise to 
the practical knowledge of men and things which we 
ordinarily designate by the term experience. 



CHAPTER V. 

LANGUAGE, IN RELATION TO THE DEVELOPMENT 
OE OUR IDEAS. 

In following up, step by step, the mode in which our 
ideas are elaborated and developed, we cannot fail to 
discover that the influence of language forms a most 
important link in the series. Let us briefly recapitulate 
the ground we have already passed over, and endeavour 
to gain, in this way, a clear idea of the exact point at 
which the aid of external signs comes in as a necessary 
auxiliary to the power of thinking. 

Our conscious life begins with the regular experience 
of sensations awakened by our contact with the external 
world. So far as these sensations involve a mere feeling, 
i.e., a mere consciousness of our existing in a certain 
mental state, they do not form what is properly termed 
human knowledge, even of the most elementary kind. 
They are a preparation for knowledge, it is true, but 
cannot as yet be said to fall within the definition of it. 
The sensations thus experienced, however, instinctively 
draw to them the ^ mind's attention. As one sensation 
passes away, and another follows, the mind perceives the 
difference between them. This first act of perception is 
quite distinct from any^nere feeling. It is, in reality, 
an act of the mind, looking at its own feelings, and 
making them an object of contemplation ; consequently, 
an intellectual act, though one of the most primitive 
kind. This same intellectual character, however, runs 



186 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

through the whole of our perceptive life. As sensations 
are accumulated, the power of perceiving and interpreting 
them grows up, as we have seen, just in the same degree. 

The elements of which our complex perceptions 
consist, however, are not as yet separated or mentally 
analyzed. The mind regards all such groups of sensa- 
tions as a whole, without at all distinguishing the 
individual elements. Thus, to return to the illustration 
already employed, when we perceive an orange we 
take in a great variety of elements, all of which enter 
into the complex whole. (These the reader may see 
enumerated at p. 151.) But these elements are not 
separated and distinguished in the act of perception. 
They are taken in at one gaze, and the mind is, conse- 
quently, only occupied with the whole effect. Both 
sensation and perception are prior to language. On the 
one side, they do not need the aid of words to be 
perfectly realized ; on the other side, they cannot 
possibly be expressed in words, and thus conveyed to 
another. They belong to the more primary forms of our 
intellectual activity, and lie at the basis of everything 
which appears in our subsequent development. 

The growth of the perceptive faculty depends mainly 
on the law of similarity, i.e., upon the blending of 
similar elements into generalized forms. Hence the 
fundamental law of attraction is chiefly at work in the 
whole of our perceptive life. Nay, even when clusters of 
phenomena occur, still the mind is occupied with them as 
a lohole, without noticing their separate parts; but 
so soon as the external objects are withdrawn from our 
view, and the mind becomes occupied solely with their 
residua, the opposite law, the law of separation and 
distinction, begins to have a predominant force in deter- 
mining the mode of our mental activity. The perceptive 
pictures which the objects have left impressed upon us do 



LANGUAGE, ETC. 187 

not recur in all their original clearness and minuteness. 
In place of this, it is simply the more prominent 
characteristics which most readily recur, so that these 
characteristics or properties become gradually separated 
from the picture of which they formed a part, and are 
viewed by themselves as separate entities. We term 
them, then, in philosophical language, abstract ideas. 

A new play of mental phenomena now again sets in 
in connexion with ideas. Similar ideas are blended, 
dissimilar ones are associated; a complete network of 
subjective phenomena is constructed, and one mental 
image succeeds another, each one blending, like a dis- 
solving view, into the next. Were we left entirely to 
the play of the inward laws of association, we should 
find that fragmentary impressions of all kinds would be 
mixed up in the direst confusion, and that our ideas, 
both in simple and complex forms, would chase each 
other through the consciousness, with no reference 
whatever to the surrounding realities of human life. 
That this is a true representation of what the human 
mind must necessarily become, if it were to be aban- 
doned wholly to the subjective laws, without any 
regulating principle external to itself, to guide and 
steady it, may be seen from many examples. It may 
be seen, first, from the phenomena of dreaming, where 
all the laws of ideation remain in full force, but where 
we have often the most grotesque and incoherent blend- 
ing of the very same elements, which, when properly 
regulated, form the materials of daily consciousness. We 
may equally see it in the phenomena of every mind, 
when given up to reverie, or day-dreaming, and where 
the thoughts follow one another solely by virtue of their 
interna] connexion. We may see it in the case of many 
forms of mental disease, whether temporary or other- 
wise, in which the laws of the succession and combina- 



188 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

tion of ideas are by no means suspended, or even 
infringed upon, but where the mind has merely no check 
placed upon its wanderings by being brought into the 
current of the ordinary common-sense of mankind. 
Indeed, we not unfrequently meet with minds which are 
naturally of the confused and incoherent type, where the 
thoughts flow regularly enough, according to the internal 
laws of our nature, but where there is a want of order, 
arrangement, and consistency in them, where the facul- 
ties appear to be partially severed from the fund of 
traditionary sense which we all are supposed naturally to 
inherit, and where the power of self-explanation is 
utterly vague and imperfect. 

Now, this incoherence and confusion, this wild and 
unsystematic play of ideas, to w T hich every mind would 
be equally exposed, if abandoned simply to the force of 
its subjective laws, is contravened mainly by the force of 
wouds, and the influence of language upon our trains 
of thought. The exact point, therefore, where language 
strikes in as a necessary element in the development of 
our faculties can be now clearly defined, and we must 
devote the present chapter to the elucidation of the mode 
in which this really takes place. 

I. To clear our way from the very beginning, we 
must point out, first of all, what the origin of language 
is, physically considered. The origin of language has 
been long a qucestio vexata. Some have regarded it as 
a cunningly-devised instrument for the purpose of com- 
municating our ideas from one to another. The fact of 
language being common, however, to the rudest nations 
with the most cultivated has always militated against this 
supposition ; so that the theory of the Divine origin of 
language has been often taken up as a more probable 
supposition, and defended with much plausibility. 

These and all collateral theories have sprung out of a 



LANGUAGE, ETC. 189 

fundamental misapprehension of the real nature of the 
thing to be accounted for. Language has been re- 
garded ab extra, as a fact — an epyov which has been 
constructed at a particular time, and for a conscious pur- 
pose ; and then the question has come — By whom has 
this work been performed? The real and correct view 
of the case, however, is, that language is not a thing 
preconcerted and completed, but a power which is 
always in the course of active development, — it is not 
an epyov, but an evepyela. There is no such thing as a 
complete and stationary language. All living languages 
are in the process of creation ; they are being daily 
moulded to express the thought of the age. Every 
individual, in fact, constructs language for himself; for, 
though he inherits a certain fund of words from the 
past, yet he of necessity shapes it to his own mental 
wants, just as every age and every country shapes its 
own peculiar idiom, so as to form the reflex of its 
own ideas. A dead language is merely the record of a 
particular stage in the development of some given 
national idiom ; a living language is simply the stage 
upon which it at present exists. 

Starting, then, with this view of the nature of 
language, the problem respecting its origin requires to 
be quite differently stated from what it usually has been. 
Instead of inquiring when, where, and by whom lan- 
guage was invented, we have to institute an inquiry into 
the mode in which the human faculties operate in every 
single individual, so as necessarily to give rise to it, and 
that, too, not at any particular time, but always, and 
unceasingly. In brief, we have to regard the construc- 
tion of language as something perpetually going on, and 
to investigate the precise mental processes which bring 
about this especial result. 

To do this, we must refer our readers once more to 



190 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

the phenomena of the reflex actions. We have seen 
(and shall see still more clearly when we come to the 
psychology of the will) that there are certain actions we 
perform in consequence of particular excitements of the 
nervous system, which actions, though most distinctly 
adapted to subserve certain ends, yet are performed 
quite unconsciously. Other reflex actions there are, 
which are performed consciously, but still without any 
previous design or volition on our part. These are 
termed sensori-motor actions, and comprehend all the 
various forms of instinct, whether in man or in the 
lower animals. Some of these reflex actions, moreover, 
as we have seen, arise, not merely from external affec- 
tions of the nerves, but from purely mental causes. 
Thus, the idea of anything disagreeable will often pro- 
duce the same bodily effects as the actual sensation. If 
we see an injury occur to another, we shrink, and 
contract the muscles exactly as though it were occurring 
to ourselves. In watching the movements of a mounte- 
bank, we are insensibly drawn into a kind of muscular 
imitation of them ourselves. 

In brief, it seems pretty certain that any mental state, 
if we watch it narrowly — particularly every one which 
has an emotive element mixed up in it — has some 
natural gesture answering to it. Shame produces 
blushing — anger, paleness — joy, laughter. Volitional 
states have similar effects. Notice the action of the 
tongue in boys learning to write, and the movement of 
the fingers in attempts at explaining anything difficult. 

Now, the vocal organs are, of course, natural to 
us. We are all furnished with a larynx, a tongue, lips, 
teeth, and the power of producing a great variety of 
sounds by means of the whole apparatus. Moreover, we 
see from the examples of the lower animals, as well as of 
idiots and children, that the voice is one of the most 



LANGUAGE, ETC. 191 

direct and natural media by which we indicate and 
externalize our inward states. The whole animal 
creation is replete with vocal expression, varying from 
the most joyous and exhilarating to the most plaintive 
and painful. We can hardly conceive it possible that 
any aboriginal man, in any kind of undeveloped condi- 
tion, could have been the subject of strong emotions, of 
joy on the one hand, or sorrow on the other, without 
uttering some corresponding cry; certainly, no one, 
however imperfect in the knowledge of intelligible signs, 
would fail to do so note. 

Here, then, we have the primary condition of 
language, namely, a reelex action, following neces- 
sarily upon some given mental state. As men become 
more cultivated, violent and incoherent gestures gradually 
decrease. They transfer their functions, in fact, to a more 
perfect medium of expression, i.e., to the voice. In vocal 
utterance, therefore, we have merely the developed form 
of human gesture — the power of uttering sounds corre- 
sponding not merely to emotional states, but to all 
the varying shades both of thought and volition. That 
the power of giving utterance to our thoughts is funda- 
mentally instinctive, and not artificial, may be seen 
from the ignorance in which we all live as to the mode 
in which these utterances are brought about. All we 
are conscious of in speaking is the mental state, and the 
impulse to utter it. The entire process which lies 
between the mental state and the utterance (a process of 
the most complicated kind) is unconscious, instinctive, 
reflex. The will cannot affect the organs of utterance 
directly and immediately, any more than it can com- 
mand the other functions of our instinctive life. It 
simply determines on the result, and nature herself pro- 
vides the way for its accomplishment. 

II. We can now proceed to show how the sounds 



192 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

which are instinctively uttered under the various mental 
states of which we are subject become associated with 
particular ideas. We must here set out from the fact 
last established, namely, that nature provides a gesture 
or a cry corresponding to all our varied mental ex- 
periences — that these utterances belong to the precon- 
scious region of mind — and that they can, therefore, 
be perceived by the conscious mind as phenomena, with 
the production of which it has had nothing, volitionally 
speaking, to do. These natural utterances, too (as we 
may see in a variety of ways in the case of children and 
others), have a natural affinity to the particular states 
of mind which they express. Hence, as such states 
of mind frequently recur, the same hind of utterance 
will also recur, and thus a natural association will 
spring up between the two. Moreover, as men live 
together in society, and experience together all the 
varieties of emotion to which they are liable, the ^ 
signs of these emotions tend to become assimilated ; and 
then, from the natural force of imitation, they are 
repeated under similar circumstances and conditions 
alike by all who live together in intimate connexion, and 
in the daily exchange of sentiments or ideas. When 
this is once established, not only will the given mental 
state, when experienced anew, tend to produce the given 
sound, but that sound, when heard from another, 
will recall the mental state with which we had ourselves 
associated it. 

This analysis is fully sufficient to account for the 
genesis of the interjection, but perhaps no more. An 
exclamation of joy or pain will naturally follow the 
experience of the emotion as frequently as such experience 
occurs, and thus the two will become associated. The 
same exclamation, when heard from another, will recall 
our own experience under similar circumstances, — and 



LANGUAGE, ETC. 193 

the mutual understanding and use of this same utter- 
ance thus gives us a complete psychological account of 
the origin and nature of the interjection, if of nothing 
further. 

But this interjection stands only for a given state of 
feeling, with which of course the utterance has a natural 
affinity ; this, however, is not the case with words that 
stand as the sign of things wholly objective to ourselves. 
To analyse the variation of the process which here takes 
place, we must look at the psychological difference between 
feeling and perception. In feeling, we are occupied 
wholly with our own states ; that is, with the immediate 
fact of consciousness ; but in perception, the conscious- 
ness of our own affection is wholly lost in that of the 
object. In sight, for example, we think nothing of the 
rays of light, nothing of the affection of the retina, 
nothing of the nervous process which takes place in con- 
sequence of this affection ; the mind passes at once to 
the object, and loses in it all sense of its own affection 
as the perceiving medium. The perception of this 
object will then call forth an utterance as naturally as 
does the experiencing of a feeling. More especially, too, 
is this the case when the mind is young, and nature is 
fresh, and every object new and wonderful. 

The point, however, now to be cleared up is ; — how 
this utterance should become the common representative 
of the thing. To explain how this occurs we must 
recollect that we have one perception of the thing, and 
another perception of the sound it calls forth ; and that 
it is these two homogeneous perceptions which have an 
affinity with each other, and form the real link of 
association between the two heterogeneous objects. On 
the one hand, we must notice, it is not the thing itself as 
a fact which impels the soul to utterance, but the parti- 
cular mode in which we perceive it. We perceive a lion, 

o 



194 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

and it represents itself to us by some one of its more 
striking attributes. It is regarded, we may suppose, as the 
ravener or the roarer. In the same way the horse would 
be represented as the swift-runner ; the sheep as the 
wool-bearer, and so forth. All the names of things, in 
fact, originally bear the stamp of some leading attribute, 
which forms the basis of the perception, through which 
it is regarded. On the other side, it is not so much the 
voice itself as our particular perception of the sound of it, 
which is the direct factor in the mental process by which 
intelligent words are constructed. The sound, as we 
have seen, is impelled not by an act of volition, but by 
an act of instinct. It returns, then, from the lips, 
through the ear, back again to the mind, and excites 
there a perception, which perception forms a very close 
natural affinity with the primary perception of the thing, 
from which the whole mental process originated. These 
two perceptions, when repeated, become gradually asso- 
ciated — so firmly associated that the one instantly recalls 
the other — so firmly, in short, that the perception of 
the sound when uttered blends with the perception of the 
thing, and appears to the unreflective mind virtually the 
ery same. Write the word " book " on a slate, and hold 
p a real book by its side, and require a child just able 
to read to tell you if they are the same thing, and he 
will in all probability say yes, at least until you have 
given him time to reflect on the difference, and realize it 
to his own consciousness. 

This complete blending of the perception of the thing, 
and the perception of the utterance which it calls forth, 
is of course intensified by repetition. The exigencies of 
society, and the necessity of communicating between 
man and man, gradually establish the same utterance as 
a symbol of the same thing to other minds as well as 
our own. Whatever natural divergence there may be 



: 



LANGUAGE, ETC. 195 

in the utterances of different individuals is softened 
down by intercommunication and imitation, until a 
number of common and recognised symbols is formed 
in which we have the germs of an entire language. The 
double association again comes into play. The percep- 
tion of the thing recalls the symbol, and the symbol 
when uttered recalls the thing. So that the construction 
of language all takes place according to the law of 
association already explained, i.e., by establishing a firm 
connexion between dissimilar mental experiences by 
virtue of the mutual action and reaction they exercise 
upon each other. 

We can now put together, therefore, all the steps 
which our analysis has revealed as forming the process 
by which language is produced. The mind receives 
first of all an impression from some external object, and 
forms a distinct perception of it according to the laws 
we have already explained. This perception gives rise 
to a reflex action in the natural organs of expression, 
which reflex action produces a sound or cry ; this sound, 
returning to the mind through the ear, becomes in its turn 
an object of perception ; and then, lastly, the perception of 
the thing forms an association with the perception of the 
sound of so close a nature, that whenever the residuum of 
the latter is in any way brought into consciousness, the 
associated reflex action follows upon it, and words flow 
forth distinctly expressive of the ideas then present in 
the mind. 

This analysis gives the bare mental process by which 
the elements of language are originally produced, and 
by which indeed they are reproduced in the case of every 
child; but these elements are of course developed, 
enlarged, and perfected more and more by the collision 
of mind with mind, by the necessities of intercommuni- 
cation, and the general enlargement of human ideas. 

o 2 



196 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OE IDEAS. 

The pathway is quite plain when we have once compre- 
hended this first mental process, by which we rise from 
the simplest onomatopoietic words up to those which 
express the most abstract terms, and equally plain from 
the use of simple radicals up to inflected forms and 
relational particles. 

III. We can now, after these preliminary explana- 
tions, come at length to the question, which is most 
important of all in a psychological point of view, namely 
■ — What is the precise effect which the use of language 
exercises over the process of our mental development? 
Sensation, we need not say, has no connexion with 
language at all. Next, with regard to perceptions, they 
can be formed to any extent without words, although it 
may still be true that the use of words, when once 
attained, reacts upon our perceptive life in various ways, 
and influences many of the interpretations we put upon 
sensational phenomena. Thirdly, we can proceed with- 
out the use of words from the formation of perceptions 
to that of elementary ideas ; for the external object may 
be removed, and the prominent features of it (those 
which most strongly engaged our attention) will still 
remain like a picture in the mind, which can be recalled 
into consciousness, whenever the proper spring of asso- 
ciation is touched, or the force of other repressive ideas 
is removed. 

So far the normal process of mental development goes 
on regularly, simply by virtue of the influence exerted 
by the objects of nature around us upon our mental 
instincts and tendencies ; but now we come to a point in 
the process where a new element is required. The 
residua of our perceptions return to us in the form of 
elementary ideas, where no external object is any longer 
present to excite them or recall them to consciousness. 
By the laws we have already explained, these residua will 



LANGUAGE, ETC. 197 

enter into all kinds of combinations with each other, some 
blending by virtue of similarity, others being associated 
together in groups and series. But, as yet, there is 
nothing which we have detected capable of bringing 
order and system into these combinations. It is clearly 
of the utmost importance that our ideas should hold 
together in some systematic form ; that they should 
correspond in some way with the world of nature around, 
of which they are intended to be the expression; that 
they should sum up, in some kind of rough classification, 
the phenomena with which we have to do in our daily 
life. If impressions, and fragments of impressions, are 
for ever to chase each other through the consciousness, 
with no more reference to the reality around us than the 
changing pictures of a dream, or the trains of thought 
in a waking reverie, the value of our ideas must be very 
small, and our mental adaptation to real life could 
hardly rise above the mere promptings of instinct. 

The first step, then, towards bringing order and 
system into our mental life is taken the very moment we 
project any one of our mental images out of its proper 
subjectivity, and embody it in a sign external to our- 
selves. We seize upon some leading feature in our 
perceptive experience ; the mental effect of it as a pheno- 
menon then expresses itself by a reflex act in the motor 
system, and calls forth a cry or a sound, which, returning 
to the mind, through the ear, associates itself with the 
original perception. At the recurrence of the same 
phenomenon, in any shape, the same cry is called forth, 
by virtue of the same law of reflex activity, and guided 
by the association already established. By daily inter- 
course this outward utterance becomes at length moulded 
into a common symbol, that is perfectly understood 
between man and man. Thus, by force of repetition and 
social use, the association is strengthened, until the given 



198 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

sign stands firmly established, apart from ourselves, as the 
natural symbol of the given attribute. This attribute, 
lastly, once expressed and symbolized by a term, forms 
the basis of a classification, under which every aspect in 
which it occurs in nature is included ; and it thus esta- 
blishes, so far at least, a fixed relation between our own 
ideas and the phenomena around us. 

Let us take an example to illustrate this analysis. 
Let us imagine the aboriginal man to have seen a wild 
animal, such as a horse, running swiftly past him. He 
makes some utterance expressive of the rush and swift- 
ness of the motion. This same utterance would naturally 
be repeated on a second occurrence of the same phe- 
nomenon ; and, after that, it would soon be employed to 
express the running of other animals as well ; at length 
the very same sign would be used by others also to 
indicate the general phenomenon of swift movement; 
and thus the whole idea expressed by the word run 
would have a fixed symbol in speech, answering to the 
general fact in nature. That this analysis is correct 
is indicated by the very form of most primitive 
roots, particularly in the older languages, which roots 
very generally exhibit in sound some rough approxima- 
tion to the fundamental physical fact of which they are 
the expression. 

But we must enter a little more closely still into the 
mental function involved in the use of words, as now 
explained. In the explanation already given of the 
nature of perception we showed, that the definite per- 
ception of any object whatever involves a tacit classifica- 
tion, and, consequently, an internal judgment. The 
judgment, however, is of such a nature that the two 
terms of it (the subject and the predicate) are blended 
together, instead of being kept distinct, as in a duly 
expanded proposition. We will take the perception of a 



LANGUAGE, ETC. 199 

rose as an example. Here the phenomena which are 
brought by the senses to our sensorium are interpreted 
instinctively by the mind. There is a certain form, and 
colour, and scent presented ; the mind, in bending its 
attention to them, recalls into consciousness former 
residua of a similar nature ; and these residua, blending 
with present appearances, give rise to the present inter- 
pretation of the object. This interpretation, if it were 
expressed in words, would be as follows : — The object 
before me is a new example of similar objects already expe- 
rienced, to which the name " rose " has been applied. 
The mind, however, in realizing this perceptive state, 
does not separate the elements of it in the analytic 
manner above indicated ; it does not sum up the different 
attributes, nor, indeed, observe any one of them dis- 
tinctly and by itself; it simply experiences a general 
effect, and unconsciously interprets it to mean a certain 
thing. 

When we proceed, however, from perceptions to ideas, 
the separation between the subject (rose) and its different 
predicates at once commences. Instead of the mind 
being occupied with the general effect, we recall, one by 
one, the particular attributes which have most struck 
our attention. This recurrence of the different attributes, 
if expressed in words, would be, The rose is red, the 
rose is sweet-smelling, the rose is tender,, &c. These 
judgments, of course, we do not complete or realize to 
ourselves at first. The words, perhaps, do not yet exist, 
and, therefore, we have no means of putting the mental 
process we are passing through, in its germinal and 
elementary form, into a fully developed shape. So soon 
as ever a word is uttered, however, that word involves 
in it a tacit judgment — a judgment, moreover, of a more 
advanced analytic character than the one which we saw 
to be involved in perception. 



200 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

Let us take an example to illustrate this. The primi- 
tive man (whom we must, for the sake of argument, 
suppose to exist) sees a bird fly over his head ; the phe- 
nomenon gives rise to an utterance. Such utterance is 
at first, of course, rather an expression of wonder than 
anything else — a kind of inter jectional sound. By the 
force of repetition, however, it soon becomes articulate, 
and stands as a symbol of the phenomenon with which 
it has now become associated. Having arrived at this 
point of mental development, whenever he sees or thinks 
of the flight of birds, and utters the word " fly " (or 
whatever its equivalent might be), he performs, by the 
very utterance of it, an act of classification ; for, in that 
very utterance, he identifies this new phenomenon with 
former ones of the same kind. If we attempt to expand 
the judgment involved in the use of " the word" we 
shall find that the subject of it is always the actual 
phenomenon presented, or thought of, and that the 
predicate is the whole mass of our prior reminiscences. 
Thus the word "fly " indicates that this case of flight 
belongs to the same class of phenomena as those former 
ones which we have already experienced ; and the word 
thus becomes the mediating point between the present and 
the past. It acts as a fixed centre, around which the 
whole multiplicity of our experiences, in one particular 
respect, gather themselves, and sums up, in one single 
breath, the result of a thousand previous mental experi- 
ences, and of a thousand possible ones yet to come. 

We find here, accordingly, the same mental laws 
recurring as in the previous stages of our mental life. 
What is a word? We reply, a distinction, a judgment, 
a separation — an inward mental conclusion that some 
given phenomenon coincides with some former ones, and 
is different from some others. This conclusion is fixed 
and recorded by the simple use of the term. By the 



LANGUAGE, ETC. 201 

law of attraction, a given number of similar percep- 
tions are united indissolubly under one symbol, and 
formed into a generalized idea; and, by the law of 
repulsion, others are equally excluded. The only dif- 
ference is, that the judgment so made is embodied in 
an objective form, and can thus serve henceforth as 
a category for the classification and summary of natural 
phenomena. 

We may now sum up, then, in a few particulars, 
the direct effects of language upon our mental develop- 
ment : — 

1. First of all, it brings order and arrangement into 
our ideas, and thus serves as a practical classification of 
the phenomena of nature around us. This it does by 
embodying all the more typal ideas in an objective 
symbol, and giving fixity to them as the central 
points of all cognate phenomena. We perceive the 
world by means of the senses, but we comprehend it 
in and through the forms of language. Without this 
practical classification, fixed by signs exterior to our- 
selves, our ideas would resemble a mere phantasmagoria 
of impressions like a reverie or a dream. 

2. Language serves the very important purpose of 
condensing and abbreviating our ideas. A single word 
sums up the result of a vast series of individual impres- 
sions in a generalized form. It thus acts in relation to 
our thoughts the part which algebraical symbols act in 
the higher calculations. As it would be impossible to 
keep all the parts of a complicated calculation in 
the mind without such symbols, so we should be con- 
fused and overwhelmed with the infinite multiplicity of 
our individual ideas, unless we could sum them up 
in symbols, and use those symbols as representatives of 
certain mental equivalents. 

3. Another office which words perform is that of 



202 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

stamping a certain fixed character upon our general 
notions individually considered. The idea we form 
of a thing is taken, as we saw, from some one or more of 
its prominent characteristics or attributes, and this attri- 
bute is expressed by the word which conveys it. Thus, 
the wolf is originally, in the Teutonic dialect, the 
ravening animal j and the ox, in the Greek dialect, is the 
lowing animal. All the branches of these primitive 
roots contain tacitly the same fundamental perception 
as the basis of the whole ; and the peculiar attri- 
butes under which all the objects of nature are per- 
ceived, taken together make up what is called the inner 
form of the language. It can easily be understood from 
this, that the language we are first brought up to 
employ as the organ of our thought puts its stamp upon 
everything we come into contact with. So true is 
the expression of William Humboldt, " Es liegt in jeder 
Sprache eine eigenthumliche Weltansicht." 

4. As a corollary from what we have now remarked, 
we can infer that it is through the agency of language 
that we are brought into the general current of human 
thought. 

Language contains a summary of the thoughts and 
judgments of our forefathers upon men, and things, and 
truth in general. In learning our native language, we 
are furnished with a tolerably complete classification of 
the phenomena of nature, of society, and of human 
thought and feeling. The idioms, the terms of expres- 
sion, the proverbial sayings which are current around 
us, the inner form of the language, and the very gram- 
matical inflexions of the words, all contain a certain 
meaning, which is the interpretation that the national 
mind has put upon the facts presented to it. Language, 
moreover, when once worked up into a national litera- 
ture, is the complete repository of the civilization of the 



LANGUAGE, ETC. 203 

people to which it belongs ; and every individual, in 
imbibing this language, and being brought into contact 
with this literature, is placed upon the vantage-ground, 
which the combined activity of his ancestors and those 
of his whole race have prepared for him. To this 
we may add, that, in so far as every example of civiliza- 
tion is dependent on the historical development of 
mankind at large, we are brought through the medium 
of that civilization into the general current of human 
thought. 

5. There is just one other mental effect which we 
derive from language, and that is, the power of com- 
bining our ideas and thoughts ad infinitum. 

Just as the symbolism of algebra and arithmetic gives 
us the power of combining numbers and calculating the 
most distant results, so the symbolism of language 
enables us to combine our ideas and work out our 
reasonings to a degree otherwise wholly unattainable. 
We merely touch in passing upon these points ; but 
every one will be able to judge from what we have said 
of the immense part which language in general plays in 
the whole process of our mental development. 



CHAPTER VI. 
REPRODUCTION OF IDEAS. 



The reproduction of ideas which have once or oftener 
occupied the consciousness is not a new fact which we 
have now first to introduce into our system of mental 
phenomena. The possibility of it is already involved in 
the indestructibility of our perceptions, and the laws of 
residua before explained. In short, the reproduction of 
mental phenomena generally is a fact which runs through 
our whole mental history, from the very earliest of our 
simple perceptions up to the highest exercise of our 
developed faculties. It only assumes a somewhat dif- 
ferent aspect according to the stage of mental develop- 
ment on which we for the moment contemplate it. 

We have been occupied hitherto with mental pheno- 
mena, which are almost wholly involuntary in their cha- 
racter and mode of recurrence. Thus, in the case of 
perception, the mind is constrained to a certain course of 
activity by the presence of the external object. When 
we see a person whom we well know suddenly pass by, 
it does not depend upon our own will what kind of 
a perception is called up. The experiences we have 
already had of the person in question are actually laid 
up as residua in the mind, and the sight of him 
awakens these in virtue of a mental law which operates 
by the most rigid necessity. The case holds good of all 
other perceptions, such as those of a castle, a church, a 
mountain, a picture, &c. By the spontaneous blending 



REPRODUCTION OF IDEAS. 205 

of our residua, these generalized perceptions have been 
gradually formed into certain shapes ; and they recur, 
when awakened by the allied sensations, as surely as 
fixed mental laws can possibly make them. 

The same spontaneity is observable likewise in the 
rising and sinking of our ideas. The laws by which 
these processes take place are as well defined as those of 
perception, and as certain, if only left to themselves, in 
their operation. The only difference is that they are 
more apt to be interfered with by volition ; for the 
external object being no longer present they come neces- 
sarily somewhat more under the indirect control of the 
will. 

In the present chapter we have to advance another 
step in the phenomena of mental reproduction, and 
discuss that form of it, in which the mind controls the 
individual acts of recurrence by the power it can exercise 
over the operation of its own laws ; for, in addition to 
the involuntary reproduction of ideas, as seen in a former 
chapter, we shall show that there is such a thing as a 
conscious and voluntary reproduction of them by means 
of that power of mind which we ordinarily term the 
memory. It is to this precise point, more especially, 
that we have now to direct our attention. 

There are few mental processes which have been more 
wrongly or inadequately comprehended and explained 
than memory. Perhaps the most incompetent of all 
theories was that which was propounded by the French 
Sensational School ; namely, that memory is but a pro- 
longed sensation. To prolong or renew a sensation is 
wholly impossible. There is no material similarity at 
all between the tooth-ache and the idea of it. Every 
sensation terminates with the outward cause that gives 
origin to it ; and the recollection we may preserve of it 
afterwards consists of totally different elements. 



206 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

The explanation of the case is not much more satis- 
factory, if the memory be represented as the store-house 
of the mind, in which actual impressions are laid up to 
be recalled at any future time by the power of associa- 
tion. 

Let us suppose that two persons — one an artist, with 
a peculiar taste for natural scenery, the other a farmer, 
looking with an eye to trade and profit — meet on some 
elevated ground, and view a fine landscape. The actual 
impressions made upon both through the senses are the 
same ; but if we investigate the memory of the scene 
which each retains a year afterwards, we shall find that 
there is a most material difference. First of all, the 
great mass of detail which filled up the picture of the 
moment has disappeared altogether, and each person has 
retained just those particular points, which coincided 
most with his own mental tendencies. It is clear, there- 
fore, that a large amount of mental activity is combined 
with the phenomena of reproduction over and above the 
mere recurrence of actual impressions made through the 
eye, while multitudes of the impressions which actually 
ivere made have been altogether lost. 

Nay, even if we go a step further, and take, as we 
must do, the full explanation already given as to the 
formation of our perceptions, and the spontaneous rising 
and sinking of our ideas, as the basis of our theory of 
memory ; still all this is not sufficient to give a complete 
account of every thing which we include under that 
term. For we not only require, in any theory of 
memory, to see the possibility of the recurrence of our 
ideas, but to know, why we demand of every sane man 
that he shall have a tolerably complete control of the 
fact of their reproduction ; why we make a man responsi- 
ble for his memory, and why we treat him as deserving 
of blame if he forgets what he ought to remember. It 



REPRODUCTION OF IDEAS. 207 

is evident, at first sight, that all this presupposes a 
certain voluntary power over our ideas, and a certain 
co-operation of the will in their reproduction. 

Now this fact, — viz., the self-conscious power which we 
have to place ourselves again in certain given mental states 
already experienced, — offers a clue to the comprehension 
of the real nature of memory. We can only exercise a 
voluntary power over those mental states, in the produc- 
tion of which we have ourselves consciously co-operated. 
A sensation, an emotion, a perception of some present 
object, we cannot recall. We had nothing to do con- 
sciously with their original production, and w r e can 
never experience them a second time, except by the 
concurrence of the same set of circumstances which con- 
tributed to bring them forth. Not so, however, with 
those mental states which are the result of the mind's 
free activity. Let some striking scene be presented to 
us, and the mind at once sets to work to master and 
comprehend it. It seizes upon this feature and upon 
that ; lets the more uninteresting points sink away from 
observation, and brings the more interesting ones forward 
into especial prominence ; it compares one part with 
another, separates here, unites there, and constructs for 
itself a mental image of the whole, which, though occa- 
sioned by the objective reality before us, is still mainly the 
work of the mind's own free and conscious activity. It 
is this image, then, which we can recall, and only this. 
And it is only as far as we know that the mind lies 
bent its voluntary attention to the matter, and grasped 
an idea, or set of ideas, for itself, that memory can be 
either demanded or expected of any one. The question, 
then, which we have now to discuss is this, — What is 
the nature of memory regarded in the light of a volun- 
tary reproduction of certain prior states of mind ? Of 
what elements does it consist ? And what are the 



208 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

mental processes we pass through in order to gain this 
control over the recurrence of our ideas ? 

Many writers have attempted to reduce all memory 
to the laws of association, making its phenomena simply 
the result of those laws in their ordinary operation. 
This theory, however, labours under one most serious 
defect. It does not elevate the fact of recollection in 
any degree above the category of involuntary mental 
processes. The laws by which our ideas act and react 
are not subject, except very indirectly, to the control of 
the will. Like the laws of nature, we can only use 
them by obeying them. The associations we form, 
accordingly, are formed involuntarily, and the return of 
any given idea, or combination of ideas, into conscious- 
ness, so far as it depends on mere association, does not 
at all satisfy those conditions of voluntary control, which 
form the most essential element in memory properly so 
called. 

Another mental phenomenon which has often been 
selected as the chief basis of the memory is attention. 
This is no doubt a much nearer approach to the true 
explanation. Attention implies a voluntary effort directed 
towards some particular topics of mental consideration. 
Without such effort we could not certainly remember, 
still less retain, any hold over the free reproduction of 
our ideas. But the mere statement of the fact, that 
memory depends upon attention, does not go very far 
towards explaining the details of the process; it only 
leaves us with the very obvious truth impressed, that 
some kind of mental effort must be applied to any 
subject of our thoughts or perceptions, in order to be 
able to control their future reproduction in conscious- 
ness. 

Attention alone, however, would not be sufficient to 
explain all the peculiarities of the case. There are 



REPRODUCTION OF IDEAS. 209 

many cases in which mere attention proves insufficient. 
We often bend our mental energies to a subject and 
make a great effort to retain it ; but still all our efforts 
prove unavailing. The memory proves treacherous and 
incompetent, the subject becomes a confused impression, 
and in proportion to the confusedness of the impression 
it escapes from the mind, and baffles all our endeavours 
to recall it with any degree of vividness or minuteness of 
outline. Many other cases there are in which one-half 
of the power of attention drawn to an object will 
produce a much more perfect result in regard to repro- 
duction ; so that there is evidently some mental element 
at work in addition to mere attention, on which the 
voluntary power of reproduction greatly depends. 

We have already shown that, in attending to any 
object, the mind makes a peculiar representation of it 
for itself. By giving great prominence to some features, 
and letting others sink away unthought of, it creates a 
special idea of it, which bears the obvious marks of its 
own free activity. The conception that every man forms 
of anything to which his attention is directed will depend 
greatly upon his own mental tastes and tendencies. 
Here, accordingly, we might argue, that what the mind 
has once constructed for itself it can reproduce at plea- 
sure ; and that, as the image, which the mind has formed 
of the object of contemplation, is the production of its 
own free power, so it can, in the exercise of that same 
power, call it up, or dismiss it from the consciousness at 
will. 

This account of the matter, again, is partly true, but also 
partly false. It is true that every distinctive idea that we 
form of a thing is the product of our own reflexion, and 
depends upon a mental process over which we can exer- 
cise a considerable voluntary control ; but it does not 
follow that we can always reproduce it at will. There 

p 



210 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

are many ideas formed in the way indicated, which we 
seem to lose sight of altogether, and cannot by any effort 
bring back into the memory. No doubt they exist there 
in the form of residua, but we have entirely lost the clue 
to them, and cannot return to the point in our past expe- 
rience which holds the key to their reviviscence. 

Over and above the fact of a mental idea or repre- 
sentation being the product of our own intellectual 
activity, its relation to the power of memory, we find, 
will also greatly depend upon the order and arrangement 
of the other thoughts and ideas, in the midst of which it 
stands, and to which it is related. No one with any 
amount of attention could retain a perfect mental repre- 
sentation of the stars and groups of stars in the sky, 
were there no further mental activity exercised upon them 
than their mere perception. But let some principle of 
order and arrangement be brought in ; let the groups be 
classified, and let the relative positions be marked ; let 
the whole firmament be thus mapped out upon some 
intelligible principle, and there is a clue given by which 
the whole can be retained in the memory, and the sepa 
rate portions at any time be recalled. 

And what is true here is equally true, according to its 
measure, in every other case. Nothing that we see, hear, 
or think of, exists alone. Everything stands in the midst 
of a system of ideas, of which it forms a part, and with 
which it has numberless connexions ; and it is by sur- 
rounding it with a network of such ideas, all duly 
ordered and arranged, that we are enabled to go back to 
the exact point in the system where we shall be able to 
recover it, and bring it back to our consciousness. 

We will suppose the object we wish to recall to be a 
phenomenon of nature, some one amongst the thousand 
chemical facts which science presents. Here the chance 
of retaining one out of such a multitude, and recalling 



REPRODUCTION OF IDEAS. 211 

it at pleasure, appears very small. But the fact in ques- 
tion stands in a system of cognate phenomena. We 
know the elements which are at work ; we know their 
properties ; we know the effect of their relative combina- 
tions ; and the given phenomenon merely comes before 
us as one particular example amongst a series of causes 
and effects, of which we know the beginning, the middle, 
and the end. This being the case, we can pass mentally 
along the series from any point until we come to the fact 
itself, and thus lift it, as it were, out of the whole net- 
work of idea by which it was surrounded. 

Again : we wish to remember the characteristics of a 
flower. We locate it in due order, in the centre of some 
well-defined botanical system, and the memory recurs to 
it at once without difficulty. 

It matters little of what description the links of con- 
nexion may be in the system of ideas; i.e., whether the 
connexion be logical or practical, whether natural or 
artificial. In cases where there are very few natural 
links of connexion, it is necessary to create artificial 
ones, as in the case of numbers and dates. The whole 
principle of every possible system of mnemonics is, to 
create a connected series of artificial links, so that when 
any one part of the series is given, the mind can pass by 
regular steps to any other, and thus drop down, as it 
were, upon any particular number or date that may be 
required. The process of learning the multiplication- 
table is really a system of artificial memory, in which the 
mind establishes, generally by the mere sound, a number 
of points, which it is enabled to call into consciousness at 
any moment. Here the logical connexion between the 
numbers would, of course, give a more natural and 
certain mode of bringing any of the required products to 
mind, but it would not be so rapid in its action, and con- 
sequently is not so well fitted for daily use. 

p 2 



212 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

Lastly, in regard to the practical affairs of human life, 
the very same principle in regard to memory holds good 
as in the other cases above mentioned. The duties 
which devolve upon every one of us form, as it were, a 
connected system of " agenda," which must be ever pre- 
sent more or less to the mind of every thoughtful and 
practical individual. We know from daily experience 
that, if due attention be directed to the whole system of 
duties devolving upon us, and due order and connexion 
be established among them, it is impossible that anything 
of magnitude or importance under ordinary circum- 
stances could be forgotten. Hence memory is drawn of 
necessity into the sphere of human duty. To overlook 
an engagement, or to forget an obligation, shows that 
there must be culpable neglect someivhere. It shows 
either that the mind has voluntarily dismissed such obli- 
gations from its presence, or that it has failed to enter- 
tain such a sense of the value of human duty as to 
induce it to form a system of practical activity, in which 
every duty shall find its place, and in doing so shall pre- 
sent itself in its due order to the memory. 

Thus the power of memory may be represented to us 
under the figure of a spider's web, which sends out its 
threads in all directions, establishing connexion with 
every part, and with the central point of the whole. 
When the mind has woven such a web around any 
object, it can pass along any of the threads at pleasure, 
and reach any given point in the system. Thus it only 
depends on volition to keep the clue to every idea we 
may require to recall in our minds, and to bring it at any 
moment back into the light of consciousness. 

This view of memory is important in an educational 
point of view. It shows us in what way we must pro- 
ceed to fix any important truth indelibly on the mind of 
the scholar, and enable him to recall it at will. Even if 



REPRODUCTION OF IDEAS. 213 

it be ever so trivial a fact, still connexions of some kind 
must be established between it and other ideas. Hence 
the teacher questions and cross-questions the scholar, 
to see whether the fact he desires to impress does not lie 
as an isolated idea in the mind, and, if so, whether he 
cannot link it by numerous ties to other ideas, so as to 
multiply the bridges by which the mind can return to it 
at any future period. 

Another important point in regard to education 
is also here brought to view, namely, that the cultiva- 
tion of memory does not imply merely the exercise of a 
single faculty, as many suppose, but that it implies, 
primarily, the establishment of order and connexion in 
our ideas, and hence involves a process which is more or 
less allied to the intellectual and logical processes them- 
selves. To whatever extent the memory is successfully 
cultivated, to that extent must there have been some 
amount of system inculcated. If the system of ideas 
which is thus woven be of a natural kind, nothing can 
be more important than the power of memory thus 
developed. If the system of ideas be artificial, still it is 
better than none, and facilitates some arrangement of 
our knowledge, though that arrangement may not be 
the best possible one. The habit of memory, in short, 
viewed generally, is equivalent to the habit of order and 
method in our ideas ; and, so far as this is the case, 
forms a most important element in the process of 
mental education. 

It can hardly fail to have suggested itself already, 
that there must be a very close affinity between the 
exercise of memory and the use of language. Language, 
as we showed, implies an instinctive classification of 
ideas. We sum up a large series of phenomena, which 
resemble each other in some distinctive point, in a single 
word, and that word can henceforth be used as the 



214 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

symbol of the whole. In the exercise of memory, we 
introduce new connexions and a new order into our 
ideas, based upon the classification which language has 
already prepared. Were our ideas not objectivised and 
defined by the use of terms, recollection would be 
impossible. There might be the recurrence of former 
impressions, the return of numerous residua into con- 
sciousness, in accordance with the spontaneous laws 
of action and reaction ; but there could be no voluntary 
control over our ideas, and no self-originated return to 
any given point in our past consciousness. By means of 
language, we can hold our ideas, as it were, before us as 
things existing apart from ourselves ; we can combine 
them or separate them, and place them, in short, in any 
given relationships whatever to each other. In this way 
we can mould them into a complete system, and so 
create the conditions on which voluntary memory de- 
pends. What we wish to remember we always state 
clearly in words. When this is not the case, our ideas 
flow into each other ; and, having no fixed and definite 
relation, cannot present any defined lines of thought by 
which we can pass from any given point in the system 
to all the rest. 

To sum up, then, our whole theory of memory, we 
may embrace it in few words as follows : — We see, 1st, 
that there is no such a thing as any separate and pecu- 
liar faculty, so called; 2ndly, that the possibility of 
memory is based upon the universal fact of the per- 
sistency of our mental impressions, of whatever cha- 
racter ; 3rdly, that memory, regarded as a voluntary 
reproduction of past phenomena, takes its start from the 
spontaneous classification of ideas which is involved in 
language, without which we could exercise no direct 
control over them whatever ; 4 thly, that, starting from 
the platform of language, and the instrumentality it puts 



REPRODUCTION OF IDEAS. 215 

into our hands, our power of memory as a volitional act 
depends upon the order and system which we con- 
sciously give to our ideas, and which alone can enable 
us to hold them at any time ready at our behest ; and, 
lastly, that it is only on the ground of the power thus 
acquired, that we become responsible for the use of 
memory, and can be held blamable when, in any 
important affair of life, it fails to perform its office 
aright. 



CHAPTER VII. 

UNDERSTANDING AND IMAGINATION. 

We have now gone through the main questions which 
arise in connexion with the genesis of our ideas, and 
their relations to each other. We have seen how they 
blend, how they combine in groups, in what way they 
are assisted and developed by the aid of language, and 
how they are voluntarily reproduced. The last thing we 
have to elucidate under this general head is the proper 
meaning of the terms, Understanding and Imagination, 
both of which terms are constantly employed to desig- 
nate two distinctive kinds of mental activity in relation 
to our ideas. 

And, first, we must show that neither of these terms 
designate any separate and peculiar faculty. By under- 
standing is generally implied the power of comparing, 
distinguishing, judgi7ig between two or more things. 
By imagination is generally understood the faculty of 
creating and retaining the images of things in the mind, 
of bringing them vividly into consciousness, and com- 
bining them into new forms. 

It will not be difficult now for the reader who has 
followed the preceding expositions to see, that whatever is 
distinctive of understanding or imagination in the sense 
just indicated is involved in the whole of those prior 
series of mental phenomena which our analysis has 
already presented. With regard to understanding, the 
mind begins to distinguish, to separate, to recognise, to 



UNDERSTANDING AND IMAGINATION. 217 

judge, from the very first moment of our perceptive life ; 
all the combinations which enter into our individual 
perception, all the blending of similar impressions, and 
the holding asunder of unlike ones, involve a discrimina- 
tion of differences, although, of course, in a more 
elementary and spontaneous form. In like manner, 
whatever is distinctive of imagination — viz., the repro- 
duction, retention, and recombination of our mental 
impressions — is all involved in the entire course of our 
mental development, so that without it, indeed, no 
development of mind or consciousness could possibly 
take place. We must look, then, for some other 
explanation of these two terms more in accordance with 
the general character of our present psychology. 

From the very commencement of man's reflective life — 
from the moment when the mind first begins to com- 
pare its impressions and seeks to interpret them, the con- 
sciousness flows ever onwards, occupied, without cessa- 
tion, either with its perceptions or its ideas. The laws by 
which the formation of our perceptions and the flow of 
our ideas are regulated have been already investigated. 
In taking a general review of the whole, we find that 
there are two great mental tendencies corresponding 
with the two fundamental laws of all mental activity; 
there is, 1 st, the tendency to combine and connect ; and, 
2ndly, the tendency to divide and hold asunder. 

When we get fairly within the region of ideas, these 
two tendencies govern the whole predominant activity of 
the intellectual powers. To understand a thing means, 
to be able to assign it its proper connexion in some 
system of ideas — to combine it in one mental repre- 
sentation with those other things with which it is 
associated in nature or art. This process of com- 
bination begins very early in our mental history. For 
example, the child sees its father in numberless different 



218 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS, 

positions and circumstances — i.e., standing, sitting, 
dressed, undressed, still, and in motion, &c. — and very 
soon learns to combine all these various phenomena 
under one representation and one personality. 

He does the same with inanimate objects. He sees 
the moon sometimes bright, sometimes gloomy, some- 
times full, sometimes half full, &c, and unites the whole, 
after a time, into the idea of one single object. Pro- 
ceeding onwards from these simple cases the mind 
begins to connect together similar objects also, such as 
different kinds of clouds, trees, animals, soldiers, &c, 
under general representations. In other words, it sees 
their connexion in nature, stamps them with a name, and 
holds them firmly as so many classified elements of 
knowledge. Thus language itself is the work of the 
understanding, operating in connexion with the instinc- 
tive impulses, and affording a natural classification of 
our ideas, corresponding with the words we employ to 
designate them. 

As the mind grows more mature, and its experiences 
enlarge, it enters into wider and more general combina- 
tions. A dog would, at first, only be connected with 
another dog, and be placed, mentally, in a combination 
of experiences, extending only to the different kinds of 
dogs which might be brought under observation. Soon, 
however, the properties of the dog would be compared 
with those of other animals, and a wider connexion 
would be established, as expressed by the word qua- 
druped ; the properties of the quadruped again would be 
compared in the same way with those of the animal 
kingdom generally ; these again with the other kingdoms 
of nature, until you come up to the highest possible 
generalisation, that in which the connexions are the 
widest and most embracing. The great work of the 
intellectual faculties, in brief, is to find out natural 



UNDERSTANDING AND IMAGINATION. 219 

connexions between phenomena, to establish classifica- 
tions, to go on ever widening the range of vision, and 
thus including objects the most distant from each other, 
and, at first, the most unlike, under some general repre- 
sentation. This whole tendency, then, we designate by 
the general word understanding, inasmuch as all we 
mean by understanding an object is, to know its con- 
nexions in nature, and to see it in combination with 
everything else of a cognate character. 

We turn now to the opposite tendency, that of separa- 
tion and distinction. The great mass of our perceptions 
and ideas are representative of complex objects. How- 
ever necessary it may be to begin our mental life with 
individual things, yet, as we grow up, we come to deal 
more and more with combinations, and with objects 
en masse. To this the ordinary operation of the under- 
standing naturally leads. In dealing with these complex 
objects we begin soon to discover that there is a second 
and opposite mental tendency which is directed, not to 
the combination of our ideas, but to their distinction and 
individualisation. When an object is presented to us 
we may occupy ourselves upon it in two ways. Either 
we may regard it generally in connexion with the class 
or genus to which it belongs^ and attempt thus to com- 
prehend its natural relations, or we may regard it in 
detail, and, separating all the individual features, may 
pass them in review one after the other, and connect 
with them other features of other objects with w r hich 
they stand in analogy. Thus, in contemplating a new 
flower which has never been seen before, one man most 
naturally looks to those peculiarities which determine its 
botanical character; i.e., he attempts to connect it with 
other flowers by the aid of certain defined properties 
which it possesses. Another man neglects the genuine 
character and looks merely at the detail, forming thus a 



220 NATURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF IDEAS. 

perfect representation to himself of its size, shape, colour, 
leaf, stem, root, &c, and thus becomes able to reproduce 
all these distinctive characteristics as the result of his 
perception. The former draws, as it were, the grand 
outline of an object ; the latter fills it up with all the 
minute details. This last process, then, is what we 
term imagination, which, accordingly, simply denotes a 
mental tendency to individualize the peculiarities of every 
object brought before us, and to go on dividing, ad 
infinitum, so long as any minute feature is left to be 
considered and isolated. 

The practical application of the distinction we have 
now drawn may be found in the phenomena of human 
life all around us. Who are the persons that we should 
naturally classify under the head of men of understand- 
ing ? Such a classification, were it carefully made, 
would include men distinguished for their scientific 
knowledge ; men learned and apt in professional life ; 
men of sagacity as statesmen in any branch of political 
service ; men, in brief, who have an insight into the laws 
of nature, of man, of society, of commerce, of any 
practical branch of human industry or human investiga- 
tion whatever. And what are the habits of mind which 
lead to this kind of human sagacity, and render men 
eminent in their various spheres as men of understand- 
ing ? Clearly the habit of comparing and generalising ; 
of seeing the connexions of things and reasoning from 
one observation to another. This is the real secret of 
what is ordinarily termed common sense. 

Turning to the other side of the question, we ask, Who 
are the persons that we should classify as men of imagina- 
tion ? Such a classification would include poets, artists, 
litterateurs — men devoted in any way to the culture of 
what is beautiful — men of sensibility, who have an eye 
for all that is most captivating in scenery, in architec- 



UNDERSTANDING AND IMAGINATION. 221 

ture, in antiquity, in everything which human art can 
represent and pourtray. And what is the mental 
tendency discoverable in all these different types of 
character? It is the tendency to separate and dis- 
tinguish — to allow the mind to run over all the details, 
whether of a picture or a landscape, or a scene in human 
life and character, — it is the tendency, in a word, to 
clothe the bare skeleton of human thought with all the 
embellishments of external dress and minute expression. 

We find, accordingly, that the great twofold law of 
our mental activity not only puts into our hands a 
principle which carries a light into the secret recesses of 
our mental operations, and aids us in the analysis of 
many of the most complicated processes ; but that it is 
applicable also to the great phenomena of human life 
and character, and shows us the real foundation of those 
two great springs of action in the world — understanding 
and imagination. 



PART IV. 

ON THE LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE 
HUMAN MIND. 



CHAPTER I. 

TRANSITION FROM THE REGION OF IDEAS INTO 
THAT OF LOGICAL PROCESSES. 



It will hardly be necessary to caution our readers, at 
this advanced stage of our inquiry, against the suppo- 
sition, that the logical processes of the human mind 
involve any distinct and peculiar faculty fundamentally 
different from those inward activities, which we have 
already analyzed and explained. The same laws of mind, 
we shall find, are still in operation, and the same forms 
of mental activity still recur. The only difference is, 
that, as we ascend further up the scale of mental 
development, the processes become more explicit, i.e., 
instead of being involved in the spontaneous effort of the 
intellectual instinct, the elements of which they consist 
are drawn out into a series of distinct and volitional acts 
of intelligence. 

In commencing the consideration of what are usually 
termed the logical processes, we reach that point in our 
inquiry, in which the voluntary co-operation of the indi- 
vidual comes in as a considerable modifying element. 
Every sane mind must go through all the different forms 
of sensation, of perception, and of ideation, as above ex- 
plained, and that much in the same way ; its inward ideas, 
when formed, must also blend by the law of similarity, 
and become associated by that of mutual action and 
reaction ; it must acquire the use of language, and the 
power of memory; and it must show, in a greater or 

Q 



226 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

less degree, the twofold capacity of understanding and 
imagination. These, we say, are the universal character- 
istics of every sane man, however low he may stand in 
the scale of mental education. They designate the 
spontaneous working of^our mental nature, in its contact 
with the external world, and give us an insight into the 
manner in which our primary faculties unconsciously 
grow up to some appreciable degree of perfection. 

But there are many minds which, having developed 
these universal characteristics, here stop short in their 
growth, and hardly attain any degree of logical power 
whatever beyond that instinctive logic, which is involved 
in all the lower forms of our intellectual activity. The 
mental phenomena, accordingly, which we have now to 
consider, belong to a class which are but dimly traceable 
in many minds, and which, even in those which do 
manifest them distinctly, appear always with a very 
variable degree of intensity. The analysis of them, 
however, fortunately for us, becomes exactly so much the 
easier in proportion as each step is accompanied by a 
distinct volitional effort. 

Keeping, then, in view this one element of explicit- 
nesSy in which the logical processes differ from those 
mental operations which have been already considered, we 
can now go on to show that there is no fundamental sepa- 
ration between the two — no new laws of mind involved, 
but only a more developed application of those which we 
have already seen in operation. The two great funda- 
mental laws of mind, as we have often explained, are 
the power of selection or assimilation on the one hand, 
and the power of separation or distinction on the other. 
If we go back even to the purely physical processes, we see 
them all presenting these two modes of operation. All 
the vital functions, for example, consist either in selecting 
what is conducive to life and health, and incorporating 



TRANSITION FROM THE REGION OF IDEAS, ETC. 227 

it into the system, or in rejecting and separating 
whatever is unhealthy and destructive. Our perceptive 
life, in like manner, commences with the distinction of 
one mental experience from another, followed up by the 
recognition of those which resemble some others previ- 
ously felt by us ; and, throughout the entire development 
of the perceptive faculty, we merely go on either com- 
bining or separating, until we learn to recognise in an 
instant all the phenomena and the relations of the 
external world by the few primary symbols which the 
separate senses present. 

Our ideas, again, grow and consolidate in exactly the 
same way. The mind, by the law of similarity, selects 
the homogeneous elements in them all, and welds them 
together so closely that they cannot be distinguished, 
whereas it separates and holds apart those which are not 
naturally related. The former blend into fixed notions 
and beliefs, the latter combine into clusters and trains of 
thought, in which every link is held distinctly, as a 
separate element, in the mind. 

In entering, therefore, upon the consideration of the 
logical processes generally, we may say, in the outset, 
that no primary elements are involved in them different 
from those two, with which we are already so well 
acquainted. All logical thinking consists in selection 
and separation, in the affirmation or negation of like or 
unlike relationships. Whether we look into the inward 
nature and constitution of terms, of judgments, or of 
arguments, the cognition of similarities or dissimilarities, 
of equalities or inequalities, is the material out of which 
they are all alike constructed. The entire region of 
logic, in fact, has to do simply with the forms and pro- 
cesses of this great twofold law of our mental activity, 
and properly so ; for, as it proposes to investigate gene- 
rally the " laws of thought," it must, in order to perform 

Q 2 



228 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

its office thoroughly, show how all the subordinate 
processes of abstraction, of predication, and of reasoning 
directly spring out of the one primary law as the ultimate 
foundation. This is the doctrine which we shall have to 
develop and establish more at large in the next few 
chapters. 

Before we proceed to do so, however, it may be useful 
to make a few remarks respecting the province of logic 
generally, and the relation which our psychological 
inquiries bear to the formal science known by this name. 
The science of logic owes its origin, and, we might 
almost say, its maturity, to the wonderful mind of 
Aristotle. At that time the idea of a science of mind 
was hardly realized, so that it was not possible that the 
laws of thought should be investigated, even by the 
genius of an Aristotle, from a psychological point of view. 

Aristotle started in his investigations simply from the 
phenomena of language, and denominated the science, in 
accordance with this, v XoywciJ rex^v, the logical or verbal 
art. The grammatical form of the sentence, as being 
the natural mode in which we express our thoughts, was 
taken by him as the fundamental type of thought itself. 
Every thought, he reasoned, expresses itself in a propo- 
sition, and every proposition consists of a subject and a 
predicate, connected together by a copula. In the re- 
lation of these three elements to one another, therefore, 
we have involved all the fundamental laws by which 
human thought, as developed in language, is guided and 
regulated. 

Considering, then, that the whole material of human 
knowledge lies virtually in propositions, as being the 
natural expression of our judgments, he found that all 
our notions, ideas, perceptions, &c, might be divided 
into two great classes : first, those which are fitted to 
form the subjects ; and, secondly, those which are fitted 



TRANSITION FROM THE REGION OF IDEAS, ETC. 229 

to form the predicates of propositions. Amongst the 
first of these classes he reckoned all individual existences ; 
things, that is, respecting which we may affirm many 
and different attributes, but which cannot be affirmed of 
anything whatever except themselves. All these he 
designated by the term ovaiai, existences. 

Going from the subject to the predicate, Aristotle 
found that, while the former cannot be affirmed of any- 
thing but itself, it may yet have a great variety of 
predicates affirmed respecting it : e.g., this table can only 
be affirmed of itself; but many predicates, such as round, 
hard, white, large, wooden, &c, may be affirmed re- 
specting it. 

Accordingly, he attempted to classify all that can be 
predicated of a thing under certain distinct heads, and 
thus produced the nine categories, which have held so 
prominent a place in the history of logical science ever 
since. 

But here a difficulty arose. The individual things 
respecting which so many attributes may be predicated 
present themselves, not only as individual things, but 
also as classes or species, and, in this light, may take the 
place of a predicate as well as a subject in any sentence. 
Thus, in the proposition " John is a man," the term 
man denotes a class, not a mere attribute, such as those 
we have before pointed out, as naturally forming the 
predicate of a proposition. To explain this, Aristotle 
distinguished between first existence and second existence, 
irpcoTT) ova-La and Sevripr) ovaia, the former denoting an 
individual, the latter a species. 

Starting from these fundamental principles (all evolved, 
let it be observed, from the grammatical structure of the 
sentence) Aristotle and his followers went on to build up 
the whole science of logical forms, i.e., to define the 
extension, and comprehension of terms, the laws of the 



230 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

conversion and opposition of propositions, and the various 
rules of the syllogism, as being an expansion of the 
fundamental canon so well known as the "dictum de 
omni et nullo." In all this Aristotle kept strictly to the 
principle of investigation from which he started. The 
science itself he called Logic, or Discourse ; the branches 
of the science he designated by the doctrine of terms, 
propositions, and syllogisms. By this whole phraseology 
he pointed out the fact, that he was merely attempting 
to deduce and explain the laws of thought, as embodied 
in the forms of language, and making no effort what- 
ever to lift up the veil of thought and look into the 
machinery which was working beneath it. 

Had the followers of Aristotle always maintained this 
same fundamental point of view, the science of logic 
would have always remained as clearly defined in its 
nature and limits as it was at first. But, instead of 
doing so, they allowed psychological questions gradually 
to intrude into it, and thus materially altered its entire 
complexion. Instead of the doctrine of terms, they began 
to speak of simple apprehension ; instead of propositions, 
they spoke of judgment ; and instead of syllogisms, of 
Reasoning. Thus a tacit assumption grew up that the 
three parts of formal logic implied three corresponding 
mental faculties, of which terms, propositions and syllo- 
gisms were the natural results. Logic thus became, not 
a mere analysis of thought, as involved in the pheno- 
mena of language, but a science professedly based upon 
an independent observation of the mental processes, — a 
mere branch of psychology. 

This confusion of two wholly distinct regions of in- 
quiry has been in every way unfortunate. While, on the 
one hand, it has brought discredit upon the procedure 
of logic itself, on the other hand it has fostered wholly 
incompetent and untenable psychological views. 



TRANSITION FROM THE REGION OF IDEAS, ETC. 231 

Analysis of the forms of thought, as involved in the 
structure and force of language, is one thing ; a psycho- 
logical analysis of the laws and genesis of thought is 
wholly another. Leaving, then, the science of logic 
standing as an independent analysis based upon a given 
external material, our present object will be to trace the 
inward processes themselves, and to show how they give 
rise to that region of mental activity which bears 
the ordinary appellation of logical thinking. It may still 
be convenient to separate our inquiry into the three 
heads of simple apprehension, judgment, and reasoning ; 
but the result will be to convince us, that these are 
merely advanced, or rather advancing, stages of that same 
general law of thought which is cradled in those 
fundamental processes of selection and separation with 
which we have already become so well acquainted. 



CHAPTER II. 

OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION. 

I use the expression, simple apprehension, merely to 
designate the mental process which is involved in the 
primary steps of logical thinking. The entire procedure 
of formal logic is connected with the use of terms ; these, 
to speak technically, form its whole proximate matter. 
The proper understanding of terms — the comparison of 
terms — the drawing of inferences between any two terms 
by means of a middle term — express the whole business 
of logic scientifically considered. 

At present, we have to do, however, not with logic as 
a formal science, but with the mental processes out of 
which it springs. How, then, are we to designate in 
psychology the mental fact which corresponds with the 
word term in logic ? Various expressions have been 
employed for this purpose. Sometimes the word notion 
has been used, and sometimes abstract idea. Sir W. 
Hamilton revived the word concept, which has now come 
into pretty general use amongst logical writers in this 
country, and is perhaps the best expression we can 
employ for this purpose. 

By simple apprehension, then, as employed at the head 
of this chapter, we mean the power which the mind 
possesses of forming concepts. We know that the human 
mind in its more mature state possesses a number of 
abstract and generalized notions, — all those, to wit, 
which we express ordinarily by means of common and 



OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION. 233 

abstract nouns. These nouns or names we designate in 
the language of logic as terms. The mental state corre- 
sponding to any of these terms we call a concept ; and 
the mental capacity which we possess to form concepts 
we designate simple apprehension. So far with regard to 
the words now to be employed, and the precise significa- 
tion we attach to them. 

What we have next to inquire into, therefore, is, 
the doctrine of the concept. We have to show what 
concepts are, how they are formed, and what are the 
mental processes which underlie them. This is the pre- 
cise purport of the present chapter. 

In order to prepare the way for this discussion, it will 
be well to glance, first of all, at the ordinary explanation 
which has been given of the nature and genesis of the 
concept. The ordinary explanation is this : — That, in 
perceiving a number of different objects, the mind 
abstracts or strips off, in thought, those peculiar pro- 
perties in which they differ from one another, and con- 
templates simply some one. property in which they all 
agree. Having done this, we unite them together (as the 
word concept etymologically expresses) under one head, 
and term it, as the case may be, a general or an abstract 
idea. Thus, for example, we see three straight lines, 
cutting each other, and forming a figure with three 
openings, or angles. We see the same thing repeated 
with lines of various sizes, and with various degrees of 
inclination to each other; but, in every case, we have 
three lines, and in every case three angles. Putting aside, 
therefore, the differences ■, we form a general notion or 
concept of the thing in its fundamental relations, and call 
it a triangle. 

Now the question comes, Is this a true description of 
the process which the mind really goes through in form- 
ing the concept of a triangle ? I think it may be shown 



234 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

quite clearly that it is not. Take a number of triangles 
of different forms and sizes, and set the abstracting pro- 
cess at work upon them. The only character which each 
one really contains for itself, beside three lines and 
angles, is a certain specific relation of these lines and 
angles to each other. Let this specific relation drop, or, 
in other words, abstract it, and we have merely three 
indeterminate lines and three indeterminate angles left, 
which are quite different from the concept triangle. 
Thus the mere comparison of triangle with triangle, and 
the abstraction of their differences, would never bring us 
to form the general idea. Very different, however, is the 
result if we take another kind of figure — say a quadri- 
lateral, and compare a number of these with a number of 
triangles. Here we are at once struck with a common 
difference. In one series of figures we have three lines 
involved and three angles • in the other series, we have 
four lines and four angles. Allow that no two of all 
these figures are alike, still we can at once place them in 
two distinct series, by abstracting everything except the 
common difference ; and, so soon as ever we have done 
this, we have clearly before us both the concept triangle, 
and the concept quadrilateral figure, as representing the 
common difference between the two series of phenomena. 
But will this same explanation hold good in the case of 
natural objects ? Take the general idea of a rose. Is not 
this formed by a comparison of different roses together ; 
namely, by seizing upon the common resemblance in them 
all, when their differences are mentally abstracted? We 
believe not. No two roses are, of course, really identical. 
Wherever we look, we see only varieties and differences. 
How could we abstract from each of the different roses 
presented exactly the proper amount of difference, and no 
more? and how could we seize upon the indefinite 
Nescio quid, in which the essence of the rose consists ? 



OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION. 235 

These essential elements would certainly be altogether 
hidden and entirely lost amidst the endless varieties pre- 
sented, if we only compared one rose with another. But 
now let another series of flowers — say a multitude of 
lilies, be presented, and what strikes us ? Clearly a 
common difference between the two series, which leads 
necessarily to our classifying them into two distinct 
groups, in which groups the respective individuals are 
all duly comprehended. 

This analysis, which appears tolerably clear from the 
cases already presented, is raised, however, to a much 
greater degree of certainty, when we take special cases of 
abstraction and generalization, such as those involved, for 
example, in the concepts colour, taste, smell. How can 
the general idea of colour arise in the mind ? Shall we 
say that there is a series of phenomena presented, such 
as white, black, blue, green, yellow ; and that we 
abstract all their differences, leaving their common re- 
semblances aside ? Let me ask, then, What would 
remain if you abstract the difference between black and 
white, or blue and yellow ? The difference here covers 
the whole extent of the phenomenon, and, when it is 
abstracted, the result would be — nothing. But now com- 
pare a series of primary phenomena, like colours, with 
another series of primary phenomena, such as tastes. 
Although each individual case is different, yet we have 
no difficulty in classifying them under two distinct heads, 
as belonging to two different modes of sensation. The 
consciousness of this common difference forms at once 
the concept colour, and the concept taste ; and there can 
be no doubt but that such a consciousness would never 
have arisen in the mind at all, but for the act of separa- 
tion which we are constrained to make between two 
separate series. 

There is still a theory of the concept which it is 



236 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

necessary to advert to, based upon the principle we 
have often expounded in the preceding chapter, that, 
namely, of the blending of similar elements into general- 
ized forms. It is laid down by several of the modern 
German psychologists, that our concepts (Begriffe) are 
formed just in the same way as our typal perceptions 
and generalized ideas. A vast number of objects are 
constantly presenting themselves to our senses ; the per- 
ception of these objects leaves residua in the mind 
(according to the principles previously explained) ; these 
residua insensibly blend together by the law of simi- 
larity ; and when a result is obtained in which all refer- 
ence to time and place is lost, and all memory of 
the actual objects of perception from which the general- 
ization takes place, we term this result a concept. Thus, 
the concept, rose, it would be said, is obtained by the 
insensible blending of all our experiences of this flower, 
so soon as the varieties are all lost sight of, and the 
common similarity becomes absolutely predominant. 

This differs from the ordinary logical explanation by 
making the process of conception purely spontaneous, 
without involving the conscious selection of any common 
feature as "the ground of classification. Such an explana- 
tion would be, no doubt, sufficient to account for what we 
have already termed generalized ideas ; but there is a very 
essential distinction between a mere idea and a concept, 
in the logical sense of that word. Were the process by 
which the concept is formed simply that above stated, 
the whole result, it is evident, would be a purely 
subjective one. The laws of mind, operating in con- 
nexion with the external objects by which we are sur- 
rounded, would give rise to such general conceptions in 
a purely spontaneous way; but, when formed, they 
would have no practical reference to the real objective 
existences, or furnish us with any available classification 



OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION. 237 

of things as they are in nature. Neither would it 
be possible, on this hypothesis, for the concept to retain 
consciously any individuals or subordinate species within 
its extension. For the process of blending goes on 
within the mind quite unconsciously, so that the ele- 
ments out of which any idea is formed, and which that 
idea really embraces within it, must all be wholly lost in 
the purely subjective nature of the operations by which 
it is gradually and insensibly constructed. Nay, these 
elements might be drawn from a hundred different 
sources, many of which have no real connexion with the 
actual class of objects which the concept ostensibly 
includes. 

From these considerations we are enabled to give a clear 
statement of the actual difference between what we have 
termed a generalized idea, on the one hand, and 
a logical concept on the other. To do this, we must 
go back again for a moment to the primary sphere 
of our perceptions, and briefly recapitulate the steps we 
have gone through in the progress of our mental de- 
velopment. Perception has to do in every case with 
the real concrete object itself. It places this object 
before us in its totality, so that we can recognise it 
as being something, or, rather, as being like something, 
which we have been conscious of before. It does not 
carry us, however, from the object viewed as a whole 
into the details — i.e., it does not analyze or divide it 
into the various properties of which it is composed. To 
do this is the province of the next step in our mental 
development — that which has to do with the formation 
of ideas. 

In forming ideas, we already begin to separate the 
attributes from the phenomenon as a whole, and are 
thus enabled to seize upon some prominent feature 
which strikes us most readily as the leading or 



238 LOGICAL PROCESSES OE THE HUMAN MIND. 

characteristic symbol of the thing itself. Thus, the wolf 
may be regarded as the ravening animal, the lion 
as the roaring animal, the squirrel as the leaping animal, 
&c. This special view of the object is then fixed by a 
term, and thus becomes an idea which will stand for any 
one of the same species — a kind of concentrated or 
abbreviated image of the thing itself. Now, in forming 
a concept, the properties both of the perception and the 
idea are in a sense united. On the one hand, the con- 
sciousness of all the concrete attributes is retained as 
fully as in the case of perception. The thing from 
which it is formed, with all its details, is clearly before 
the mind's eye ; but, instead of viewing that object now 
as a whole, the separation effected by the process of 
ideation is also retained, and we regard it as a whole, 
which comprehends under it such and such determinate 
parts. Thus, when we stand before the fire, we have a 
perception of this element as a whole ; we see it, feel it, 
hear it. All its different properties, though taken in by 
different senses, yet make one general impression, which 
is what we mean by fire as experienced directly by the 
senses. The idea of fire is different. We have not 
now all its properties pressing up into consciousness * we 
feel no warmth, see no light, hear no sound j but we 
have a generalized image of the thing in our mind, 
which takes the characteristic of some particular feature 
that has most struck our attention, and is embodied 
in the term by which the idea is fixed and symbolized. 
But, thirdly, the concept fire is different again, though 
it partly includes both. We have not the special 
sensations, it' is true ; but we have a generalized notion 
of fire, as comprehending certain distinct properties ; 
and, the further our natural philosophy can reach, the 
more full and determinate does the concept become. 
The case is the same with a class idea. The percep- 



OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION. 239 

Hon of a whale would give us merely the view of a large 
water animal, in some respects like, in others unlike, a 
fish. The idea of a whale would be that of an enormous 
fish, like an animal— its name being formed so as 
probably to represent its immensity, and its minor cha- 
racteristics being altogether lost sight of. The concept 
of a whale is that of a mammal, having such and such 
precise characteristics common to all mammalia, and 
such and such superadded peculiarities of its own. 

In cases where the concept becomes more generic, we 
retain the consciousness of the different species which it 
includes. Thus, the concept, dog, involves a conscious- 
ness of the different tribes. In every instance we have 
the generality of the idea united with the speciality 
of the perception; and it is this precise combination 
which gives it its value as a summary or abbreviation of 
human knowledge, clear to the consciousness, and yet 
applicable to the reality of things. 

The reasons we have now given for establishing the 
insufficiency of the two theories above referred to natu- 
rally involve the explanation we have to offer of the real 
notion of the concept, and the mental operations which 
underlie it ; we may now, therefore, sum up our analysis 
of it with all the greater brevity. 

The mind, in coming daily into contact with the 
objects of nature (the properties of which it has already 
learned to mark) soon finds that, though the variety in 
the midst of which it is placed is infinitely great, yet the 
difference between one object and another is not abso- 
lute and entire. Thus, two things may differ in 
quantity, and yet resemble each other in quality, 
and vice versa. Accordingly, we begin gradually to 
form our experiences into series. Thus, objects which 
produce the sensation of colour, of taste, of odour, of 
sound, &c, form so many series or scales of phenomena, 



240 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

which may possess many other characteristic marks, but 
yet which all agree in possessing these particular fea- 
tures, and are separated in this respect from other series. 
The same is true of natural classes of objects — as differ- 
ent kinds of metals, different species of plants, different 
families in the animal kingdom, &c. If our experience 
were confined to a single series, the common identity, no 
doubt, would not strike us. But, as each series differs 
from every other, the distinction between them soon 
comes to stand out with remarkable prominence. Our 
experiences become thus moulded into groups, each 
group presenting a kind of unity of its own, but yet 
containing individuals under it relatively different from 
each other. 

The notion we form of the unity of any whole group, 
based as it is upon the common difference which sepa- 
rates it from any other group, is what we call a general- 
ization ; the notion we retain of the separate identity of 
each individual in any group by virtue of some specific 
difference not affecting the generic unity, is what we 
mean by the particular. A concept may thus be 
described as the unity of differences — the consciousness 
we have, that a given series of different individuals may 
nevertheless form a totality in relation to other series 
around it.* This process of forming relative totalities, 
though it no doubt begins by grouping a few individuals 
under one common designation, goes on gradually ex- 
tending, until species are grouped under genera, genera 
of a lower grade under genera of a higher grade, and so 

* It is convenient to term a concept formed by combining a 
number of similar properties as existing in different objects into 
one notion, an abstraction, and that which is formed by rejecting 
differences, and leaving a common agreement, a generalization. 
We shall see that the one answers to a subject term, the other to a 
predicate term. 



OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION. 241 

on, until we reach the few grand fundamental dis- 
tinctions which form the basis of our natural judg- 
ments respecting the essential character of the pheno- 
mena presented. 

If we follow the natural distinctions of things steadily up 
the scale of generality, we find at last that there are three 
main points of difference, which remain standing when 
all the minor ones have disappeared. These are (1) the 
quality of objects, (2) their quantity, and (3) their 
relations. These three characteristics it seems impos- 
sible to merge into each other. They represent points 
of view which the mind must always keep distinct in its 
judgments respecting the natural world. Such funda- 
mental grounds of distinction are usually termed cate- 
gories. To form a complete table of categories (both 
primary and derivative) is the part of logic rather than of 
psychology, and need not be attempted here. 

At present, therefore, we may remain by the three 
chief points of distinction above stated — more especially 
as they will have to be taken into account in the analysis 
we shall give in the next chapter of the nature of judg- 
ment, and the essential varieties of the proposition. 

The analysis we have now given of the psychological 
origin of our concepts clearly shows, that they possess 
an objective value, which we ought by no means to 
overlook. Our perceptions we individually feel to have 
an objective value, inasmuch as they arise in connexion 
with the actual presence of the object perceived; but 
they only give us a general and superficial view of it, 
and do not bring us to any recognition of its real nature 
or essential character. Our ideas have a far slenderer 
objective value than our perceptions. They are based, 
no doubt, upon the elements of real experience ; but the 
materials often come from so many different sources that 
the result may be, and frequently is, very far removed 

R 



242 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

from the correct representation of any objective reality. 
Many of our ideas indeed are pure creatures of fancy, 
and are wholly subjective in their composition. Others 
are of course much closer representations of the truth of 
things ; but, at best, they take much of their hue from the 
general complexion of our own minds. The concept, on 
the other hand, is formed more strictly upon the basis of 
the reality of things. The series of phenomena which 
we combine together in one general notion is not a mere 
group of mental representations, it is a scale of real 
objects or attributes as they exist in nature. Every 
species which we express by means of a concept is a 
natural fact as well as a mental generalization, so that 
the concept leads us far into the essential nature of 
things. It tells us how they stand in relation to the 
rest of creation, to what genus and species they belong, 
what properties they possess peculiar to other objects, 
and what they have peculiar to themselves. It is on 
this account that the reasoning, which is based upon 
them, is not a mere play of words, but has a direct 
relation to truth itself. 

In the same way we may vindicate for the categories, 
based upon the principles above referred to, both an 
objective and subjective value. While, on the one 
hand, they give us the general notions by which we 
proceed in the classification of our experiences, they are 
valid at the same time as establishing real and fixed 
distinctions in the nature of things. Quantity, quality, 
and relation, may be very abstract terms, but they are 
terms which enter necessarily into the essential idea of 
every external object. 

Finally, if we inquire under what laws of mind the 
whole operation of building up our concepts proceeds, 
we find, as before, simply the two great fundamental 
forms of mental activity at work, i.e.> the power of 



OE SIMPLE APPREHENSION. 243 

combining or blending, and the power of separation. 
When we form our experiences into series we do so by 
seizing the common resemblance of a number of pheno- 
mena, and combining them into a relative unity. When 
we place one series by the side of another then the 
power of separation and distinction comes in, and we 
hold them apart as different species and fix them by 
their respective terms. 

The combined operation of these laws is, therefore, 
necessarily involved in the formation of our concepts ; 
and, simple as they appear, yet they enable us, by the 
mere force ©f combining and distinguishing, to enter 
very far, and that with the torch of consciousness in our 
hands, into the very nature and essence of things them- 
selves. We need hardly add, that, just in proportion to 
the power of philosophical observation and analysis 
which we apply in any case, in the same proportion will 
the significancy of the concept become more pregnant 
and complete. 



r 2 



CHAPTER III. 
OF JUDGMENT. 



In treating of the nature of judgment (the second 
operation amongst what are termed the logical processes), 
we must start with the supposition that the mind is 
already furnished with concepts to an indefinite extent. 
In other words, the phenomena of nature have been 
looked at as forming groups or series, and the separating 
faculty has already noted and recorded the common 
differences which distinguish one group from another. 
This being presupposed, almost every new phenomenon 
which now presents itself gives rise to a judgment. For 
what we mean by judgment is, the act of mind by w/iic/i 
we assign any individual object to its proper class, or any 
given species to its proper genus. 

(1.) The mental procedure by which this is effected is 
(not difficult to trace. Let us take an example. A flower 
is presented to a botanist which he has never seen 
before. It is possible that the moment he sees it he 
may be able to assign the class and order to which it 
belongs. But if this be doubtful he looks carefully at 
the different characteristics, compares them first with 
one class, then with another, until he forms a judgment 
as to the one to which it ought to be assigned. 

Now this is a precisely similar mental procedure to 
that which takes place in the ordinary exercise of judg- 
ment in every-day life. Most objects we see are so 
well known, or their characteristics so clearly defined, 



OP JUDGMENT. 245 

that by an instantaneous apprehension, as it were, we 
assign each to some well-known group. But this is 
not always the case. Many instances arise in which we 
are doubtful as to the classification. We see a particular 
example, but we cannot instantly determine the general 
type to which it belongs. We have to compare the 
example, therefore, mentally, with many different types, 
with which we are already acquainted; until our judg- 
ment is at last made up, and the particular is connected 
with the general idea under which, in our opinion, it 
ought to be classified. 

However rapidly our judgments may be formed, it is 
evident, from the above analysis, that they represent a 
very complex process. The judgment, " This metal is 
yellow," would, in ordinary cases, be pronounced instan- 
taneously, the very moment the object is presented to my 
view ; but in this one instant there are really concentrated 
a great many mental acts which I must more or 
less consciously perform. First of all, I must have 
perceived the object itself, and I must have examined 
its characteristics sufficiently to decide that it is a metal, 
which I can only do by comparing it with the different 
groups of minerals already established in my mind. Then, 
before I can say " This metal is yellow," I must have 
observed the precise yellow of the metal, and brought it 
under the general experience designated by the term 
" yellow ; " which general designation, again, I must 
have recognised as one in the scale of colour, and 
distinguished from those other colours, such as red, 
blue, green, &c, which the whole scale contains. Of 
course all these steps are not consciously gone through ; 
but it is nevertheless true, that, unless they had been 
really gone through and their results were actually 
present to us, the simple judgment above indicated could 
not possibly have been completed. 



246 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. V 

(2.) From the explanation just given, we can now point 
out with greater clearness the difference between a concept 
and an act of judgment. In forming a concept I com- 
pare a single thing with other single things to see if 
they have any common features of resemblance ; and 
this leads to the formation of a series or class, which, 
when compared with other classes, becomes a fixed 
notion in the mind. This process of forming our con- 
cepts is, moreover, to a large extent, involuntary and 
instinctive. Our minds are so formed that we cannot 
help distinguishing and classifying ; nor could we 
establish any mental grasp of the objects of nature 
around us unless we thus distributed them into distinct 
series. The multiplicity of individual objects would, on 
any other supposition, be so vast that we should be 
oppressed with the weight of them upon the memory, 
and never rise above the sphere of immediate impres- 
sions. 

In framing a judgment, on the other hand, we do not 
compare single things with single things, but we compare 
single things with classes already formed, in order to 
determine to which known class they severally belong. 
| This further act of comparison is by no means so indis- 
pensable to the creation of human knowledge as the 
former one. The mind can very well rest in the contem- 
plation of the different groups which it has formed from 
individual phenomena, without caring to go beyond 
them. It may contemplate an object without wishing to 
classify it any further, the exercise of any higher judg- 
ment upon it being altogether optional. Hence the act 
of judgment is relatively a freer act than that of con- 
ception, and indicates a more advanced stage in the 
normal procedure of the logical faculty. 

(3.) Having taken this general view of the nature of 
judgment, we come next to consider its elements. Every 



OF JUDGMENT. 247 

judgment, whether expressed in words or not, really 
consists of three parts. First, there is the notion of 
some individual or class of individuals, which we are 
attempting to comprehend or explain by referring it to 
some more general class; then, secondly, there is the 
notion of the more general class to which we refer it ; 
and then, lastly, there is the act of mind by which we 
see that the particular is contained logically in the 
universal ; or, as it is more simply expressed, by which 
we affirm the one of the other. Thus, in the judgment, 
" Gold is a metal," we have the notion of gold as the more 
particular, the notion of " metal " as the more general, 
while the verb "is" represents the mental act by which 
one is affirmed to be logically contained in the other. 
The first notion is termed the subject, the second the 
predicate, while the connecting link is termed the copula. 
All this follows as a matter of course from the explana- 
tion we have already given of the nature of judgment 
itself; that is, it is involved in the mental process by 
which we assign any individual object to its proper class, 
or any species to its proper genus. 

(4.) The next question which meets us relates to the 
different kinds of judgment. We have already explained 
the difference between an abstraction and a generalization, 
properly so called. An abstract notion denotes some 
property or attribute which we observe as belonging to 
a number of different objects ; a general notion denotes 
some class of real existences, which we form in our 
minds by neglecting the individual differences, and 
seizing upon the common resemblance. This distinction 
forms the basis of a classification of all our judgments 
under two heads, — those in which we affirm what a thing 
has, and those in which we affirm what it is; or, 
to use other phraseology, those which show what an 
object connotes, and those which show what it denotes. 



248 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MTND. 

Thus the proposition, "This flower is white," shows 
what the flower has ; it expresses a property or attribute 
which it possesses, and which we now observe as actually 
belonging to it. But the proposition, " This rose is a 
flower," does not say what the rose has, but what it is. 
It refers it to a higher class, in which its essential nature 
is more expressly stated. 

But there is another ground of distinction between 
judgments besides the nature of the predicate ; that, I 
mean, which depends on the extent of the subject. The 
ground of my conviction is quite different according as I 
affirm anything of One single individual, or of the entire 
class to which that individual belongs. I may say, 
" This man is rational," from my own personal know- 
ledge and experience of him ; but if I say, " All men are 
rational," I clearly go beyond the limits of any possible 
experience of my own, and make an affirmation which 
must be grounded, as far as my conviction goes, alto- 
gether in some different mental law from that on which 
I base my knowledge of individual facts. 

Taking, then, these two grounds of distinction to- 
gether, i.e., assuming two different kinds of subjects, 
| and two different kinds of predicates, we have four 
classes of judgments in all. These are — 

a When we bring a particular under an abstract 
notion. 

b When we bring a particular under a general notion. 

c When we bring a universal under an abstract notion. 

d When we bring a universal under a general notion. 

As examples, we may give the following four propo- 
sitions : — 

a This paper is brown. 

b This stone is marble. 

c All men are mortal. 

d All metals are minerals. 



OF JUDGMENT. 249 

Now, if we analyze the mental processes which 
underlie these fonr propositions, we find that they 
differ materially in each case. In the first, viz., " this 
paper is brown," we affirm that the property of this 
paper, viewed in its relation to the scale of colours, 
corresponds with that particular shade of colour to 
which we have given the name brown. It is simply a 
case in which we recognise, as belonging to the paper, a 
particular attribute, that we have already observed in 
other cases, and expressed by the adjective now em- 
ployed. In the second proposition, " This stone is 
marble," we are not passing any judgment respecting 
any particular property, but are bringing into comparison 
all the essential properties which we already know to 
belong to the substance called marble with those which 
we now perceive to appertain to the particular object 
before us. As soon as we see that the essential 
properties of the latter resemble or coincide with those 
of the former, we immediately pass the judgment in 
question. 

In the third proposition, " All men are mortal," we 
go wholly beyond our individual experience, and affirm 
that the entire class " man " exhibits the peculiar phe- 
nomena which we denote by the word mortal ; while, in 
the fourth and last proposition, we affirm that the entire 
class, " metals," resembles, in its essential features, the 
more extensive class, minerals. 

If we now turn the abstract terms brown and mortal 
into generalized ones, and call them brown things, and 
mortal things, then we shall easily see — that the whole 
business and end of the judging faculty -, in all these cases 
alike, is simply to note and affirm certain definite 

RESEMBLANCES. 

Proposition a may be stated, " This paper is like all 
brown things." 



250 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

Proposition b may be stated, "This stone is like all 
marble." 

Proposition c may be stated, "All men are like all 
mortal things." 

And Proposition d may be stated, "All metals are 
like all minerals." 

Thus, although the exact kind and degree of likeness 
differs according as we assert anything to agree with 
anything else in one single property, on the one hand, 
or in a whole group of properties, on the other — that is, 
according as we take an abstract or a general term for 
the predicate — it is still true that the affirmation of 
resemblance is the common element at the basis of 
them all. 

Prom this analysis it is easily seen that judgment, 
in the ordinary logical sense of the word, deals with the 
category of quality, and falls entirely within its province. 
In every case we have to do either with qualities alone, 
viewed in the abstract, or with qualities as designating 
classes of things of a greater or less degree of gene- 
rality. It must not be supposed, however, that all 
judgment is necessarily of a qualitative character. No 
doubt it is so originally, and must ever continue so, as 
long as we are exercising it upon objects which cannot 
be exactly compared in respect to magnitude or quantity. 
It may happen, however, that the resemblance we note 
between objects when regarded in connexion with their 
relative size may arrive at a point of distinctness, in 
which perfect equality, or, at least, some definite propor- 
tion, can be affirmed as existing between them. So soon 
as this is the case, the qualitative judgment passes over 
into the quantitative one ; and the connecting symbol 
between the subject and predicate, instead of taking the 
form A is like B, takes the form A = B, or A g B. 

Intermediate between the judgment of quality and the 



OF JUDGMENT. 251 

judgment of quantity stands the judgment of relation. 
Here we do not assert likeness, nor do we assert either 
equality or definite proportion. We simply affirm that 
one thing stands in a given relation to another, as the 
sines of different degrees do, for example, to the corre- 
sponding angles. 

In the purely quantitative judgment the relation be- 
tween a logical whole and its parts is altogether lost; 
and the relation of an extended whole to its parts takes 
its place. It is this w r hich forms the ground of distinction 
between ordinary reasoning, as analyzed in the forms of 
logic, and mathematical reasoning, in any of its different 
forms. And it is just because we can compare the 
extended or integral whole with the constituent parts so 
much more certainly than we can compare the logical 
whole with the parts of comprehension, or species con- 
tained in it, that we can carry on mathematical trains of 
reasoning with so much greater certitude in its results 
than we can any other. 

To this question, however, we shall return ere long ; 
and, therefore, having pointed out that the nature of our 
judgments is materially modified by the category (whe- 
ther that of quality, quantity, or relation) within which 
it falls, we shall now go on to expound the theory of 
reasoning, in which these categorical distinctions come 
to play a still more important part. 

We may, however, before we do this, again point out 
the fact already stated, — that the same two great funda- 
mental laws of mind which we have traced in all previous 
processes are still the moving and directing forces in all 
the different forms of judgment. It is by separating and 
distinguishing, that all judgment is carried on. Whether 
we affirm similarity or dissimilarity, equality or inequality, 
proportion or disproportion, identity or difference, re- 
specting any two conceivable concepts, still there are just 



252 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

these two fundamental facts involved, and no others. So 
far as we have yet gone, therefore, the logical processes 
are simply applications of the great primary law, of all 
mental activity, to the higher and more developed forms 
of the intellect. The very same powers of assimilation 
and separation, which the vital force manifests in its 
lower, or physical action, — the very same principles, by 
which the perceptive faculty is developed, namely, those 
of combining similar residua, and holding dissimilar 
ones apart, — the very same laws, by which our ideas 
blend, as it were, into masses, or combine into groups 
and series, — these all reappear on the stage abstraction, 
and become, at length, the psychological groundwork of 
formal logic. 



CHAPTER IV. 

ON RATIOCINATION. 

We corne now to the third of the logical processes, usually 
denominated reasoning. We have seen already how our 
concepts are formed ; viz., by noting the differences 
between groups of phenomena, and holding each group 
in the mind as a separate unity, having individuals or 
sub-species under it. We have shown, next, \k&X judg- 
ment means the mental act by which we assign any indi- 
vidual or sub-species to its proper group. This we do by 
observing that the essential attributes of the object we 
wish to classify are like the essential attributes of some 
class already known. In both cases, the powers of sepa- 
rating and combining, of perceiving differences and simi- 
larities, are the only fundamental forms of mental activity 
really involved. These powers are ordinarily exercised, 
whenever we form concepts and judgments, under the 
guidance of direct observation. We see the differences 
between the groups of phenomena presented to us by a 
single act of attention ; and we classify any given indi- 
vidual under its proper group, by a direct intuition of its 
essential resemblance with that which is distinctive of the 
group to which it belongs. 

As soon as we get within the province of reasoning, 
however, we are beyond the limits of direct observation. 
The result we want to arrive at, in the case of reasoning, 
is still a judgment, as before ; but the two terms of the 
judgment (the subject and the predicate) lie so far apart 



254 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

from each other, that we cannot perceive or establish any 
connexion between them by direct observation. The only 
thing we can do, therefore, is to accomplish the thing, if 
possible, indirectly. 

In order to do this, we find out a third term, with 
which both can be directly compared ; then, by esta- 
blishing a relationship between each of them, and the 
third term, we are enabled to form a judgment respect- 
ing their mutual relations to each other. Thus, if 
A = B and B = C, we know that A = C, although we 
may have no direct means of comparison whatever. This 
is, of course, the most rudimentary idea possible of what 
we mean by reasoning, and presents a case in which none 
of the many difficulties and complications, which will 
occur in pursuing the subject further, are to be found. 
Still it gives the bare idea of what we mean by reason- 
ing, in the outset. It shows us that it is simply a method 
of arriving at any given judgment by indirect means, in 
place of arriving at it, as we in so many cases do, by 
an act of direct observation. 

We have already in the two former chapters pointed 
out the three fundamental ideas to which all the predi- 
cates that can be affirmed of anything whatever are 
reducible, namely, quality, quantity, and relation. We 
have shown, moreover, that the nature of a judgment is 
considerably modified, psychologically considered, accord- 
ing as we are making a qualitative, a quantitative, or a 
relational affirmation. In a qualitative judgment, we 
compare an individual with a species, or a species with a 
genus, as " the whale is a mammal ; " in a quantitative 
judgment, we compare an extended whole with its 
parts, or the parts with the whole, as, a -f b = c, or 
c = a -f- b ; in the relational judgment, we compare the 
proportions of things with each other, as the sides of a 
triangle with the sines of the opposite angles. 



ON RATIOCINATION. 255 

The whole theory of reasoning is so materially affected 
by these categorical distinctions, that we shall now have 
to divide our analysis into three parts, and investigate 
the nature of reasoning — 1st, in its Qualitative, 2ndly, in 
its Relational, and, 3rdly, in its Quantitative form. 

I. QUALITATIVE REASONING. 

All natural classification results from the attempt 
to arrange things in groups according to their essential 
qualities. Hence, all qualitative reasoning has for its 
object either to find some general expression under 
which a number of individuals may be ranged, or, 
having the general expression, to apply it to the elucida- 
tion of particular cases. When we commence with par- 
ticular instances, and rise to some general conclusion, we 
term the reasoning inductive ; when we commence 
with genera] propositions, and reason down to particular 
instances, we term it deductive. 

There is, however, a rudimentary and primitive form 
of reasoning, out of which, as the root, both of these two 
modes of procedure grow — that is, when we reason 
from one particular instance to another. A person on 
first seeing the flame of a candle could not tell that 
putting his finger into it would be attended with any 
inconvenience — i.e., he could not establish by direct 
observation any relation between this particular act and 
the pain accruing from it ; or, in other words, he could 
not attribute the quality of burning to the candle pre- 
vious to a real experiment. But the next time he puts 
his finger near the lighted candle he draws it back, 
because he knows what the result will be. But how 
does he know this ? We answer, that he has arrived at 
it by an act of reasoning, though, of course, in its most 
rudimentary form. A relation is established in his 



256 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

mind then and there between the act of putting his 
finger into the candle and the pain of burning. This is 
done, not merely by direct observation, but by the aid of 
memory. The former case is the point of comparison 
with the present one ; and he reasons that the relation 
between the act of putting his finger in the flame and 
the pain suffered from it before, is like the relation 
between the act he is now performing and the pain 
which will now follow. The reasoning process may thus 
be stated as an analogy, from which the fourth term is 
calculated: — As yesterday's act : the pain then felt :: 
the act I am now performing : the pain now expected. 
Of course it would be absurd enough to imagine that 
all this reasoning process was explicitly gone through by 
the person we suppose placed in these circumstances, 
particularly as the whole thing would appear under the 
form of an instinctive conclusion \ but the mode in 
which we proceed from a known truth to an unknown 
one is virtually the same on the sphere of our instinctive 
life, as it is when we rise to the higher forms of intelli- 
gence. Reason is fundamentally one whether it be folded 
in the bud of an unconscious impulse, or expanded into 
the form of the most perfect syllogism. 

Having thus simply pointed out the fundamental idea of 
reasoning, as being the indirect establishment of hitherto 
unknown relations between objects ; and having also 
premised that in qualitative reasoning we are concerned 
mainly with the classing of attributes or qualities, as 
being uniformly co-existent with, or having a definite 
relation to certain others ; we shall proceed to explain 
the mental processes involved in each of the two different 
kinds of qualitative reasoning separately. 

1*. Inductive Reasoning.— We take this first, be- 
cause it is first in the order of psychological develop- 
ment. Induction, as we have before said, means the 



ON RATIOCINATION. 257 

act of rising to general propositions from the observation 
of particular cases. This appears at first sight to be 
a very simple procedure, which ought hardly to be digni- 
fied by the name of reasoning at all. If I observe, one 
by one, a number of individuals which have some common 
property, and then, classing them all together under 
a common name, predicate this property of the whole 
class by means of a general proposition, all I accomplish, 
is, simply to affirm collectively what my observation has 
enabled me to affirm singly already. This objection, it 
must be admitted, holds perfectly good respecting what 
is termed " Inductio per simplicem enumerationem." 
In the procedure we have just detailed there is, in fact, 
no reasoning at all — i.e., there is no procedure of the 
mind from the known to the unknown, but simply a 
summing-up of what has been already ascertained expe- 
rimentally under a general form. 

Induction, properly so-called, indicates the process by 
which we draw some general conclusion respecting a 
whole class from the observation of merely a few, or 
comparatively few, individual instances. Thus, Dalton 
framed the general proposition, " that all chemical com- 
pounds are constituted of elements that might be repre- 
sented numerically/ 5 Of course, it was not possible 
that he should have experienced for himself every kind 
of chemical compound ; still less that he or all mankind 
together could know this to be true in every separate 
case of combination by direct observation. Having 
found the law to hold good, however, in every single 
instance in which it was actually tested, he found him- 
self warranted in drawing a general conclusion, which 
might be regarded as holding good universally. 

The question comes, therefore, On what ground was 
he justified in drawing this conclusion? We reply, it 
could not possibly be justified, except on the supposition 



258 LOGICAL PROCESSES OE THE HUMAN MIND. 

of there being an order in nature. This order, which 
we instinctively feel to hold good throughout the natural 
world, is reflected in the entire development of the 
human mind. We begin to classify as soon as we begin 
to observe. Language itself is a spontaneous classifica- 
tion of phenomena. Every concept involves the forma- 
tion of natural groups ; and every judgment implies 
that we estimate each new phenomenon as it arises 
by referring it to the group to which it has to be 
assigned. All these mental processes are simply so 
many attempts to make our ideas of things perfectly 
correspond with the order of nature — to make our philo- 
sophical language the counterpart of things themselves 
in their fixed relations of species and genera. 

If we could do this perfectly, if we coulcl penetrate 
into all the hidden relations of things, and then frame a 
language which should perfectly express them, the process 
of induction would be an infallible one. All phenomena, 
as soon as observed, could be ranged under their proper 
conception ; and, as the exact essence of every class in 
nature would be known, and expressed by the proper 
term, we could not be wrong in attributing to all what 
we see to be distinctive of only a few. 

But this is precisely the kind of knowledge which we 
do not possess ; it is precisely that which science has to 
teach us, and which, in the greatest number of instances, 
it only enables us to find out approximately. The whole 
labour of inductive research, aided by experiment, aims 
at bringing us to a more perfect view of that order in 
nature which is the preliminary condition of all qualita- 
tive reasoning. It seeks to bring us gradually to broader 
generalizations, to show us how the individual fact is 
involved in the general law, and thus to mould our 
highest mental generalizations into perfect harmony with 
the actual laws of nature herself. On what our belief in 



ON RATIOCINATION. 259 

the order of nature rests is a point we do not at present 
discuss ; the question will have to come before us here- 
after in a more general form. 

2. Deductive Reasoning. — This is the mode of 
reasoning ordinarily expounded in books of formal logic, 
and of which the syllogism is given as the general type. 
We shall first give the ordinary explanation of the 
reasoning process, as involved in the syllogism, and then 
attempt to find out what are the real mental acts of 
which it is the expression. 

Take the following trite example — 
All men are mortal. 
Caius is a man. 
Therefore Caius is mortal. 

If we can imagine a man named Caius seriously 
questioning the fact of his own mortality, we might, 
perhaps, employ the above form of argument to convince 
him of it. In what, then, does the argument consist % 
The thing to be proved or rendered certain is, that Caius 
is mortal. To do this we take a middle term, with 
which we can compare the subject and predicate of the 
conclusion. This middle term is the class, man. We 
first compare the class, man, with the attribute mortal, 
and find that, according to all human experience, the 
attribute of mortality is a distinctive mark of the whole. 
Then we compare Caius with the class, man, and find 
that he belongs to it. Lastly, by the law that whatever 
is true of the whole class must be true of every individual 
that belongs to it (dictum de omni et nullo), it follows 
that the attribute, mortal, must attach to Caius as well 
as to all others of the same kind. 

Now, there can be no doubt but that this is a correct 
process of reasoning, formally considered. But when we 
come to the psychological exposition of the case, and ask 
whether the above syllogism really represents the mental 

s 2 



260 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

process by which we pass from the known to the un- 
known, very grave doubts arise whether this can possibly 
be the case. 

The objection which seems to lie against the syllogism, 
as being a correct psychological type of the reasoning 
process, is, that the major, or general proposition, really 
involves the conclusion. We want to know if Caius be 
mortal or not, and we start by affirming that all men are 
mortal ; but if we are able to affirm that all men are 
mortal, we must also have known already that Caius was 
so ; and, conversely, to whatever extent there can be any 
doubt as to the mortality of Caius, there must also be 
the very same doubt as to the general truth of the 
mortality of all mankind. 

The syllogism just cited may be a convenient way of 
stating our reason why we must hold Caius to be mortal, 
but it does not certainly represent the mode by which 
we arrive at this conclusion. If the inquiry really 
suggested itself to our minds, " Is Caius, then, really 
mortal?" we should immediately .fall back on our 
experience, and tacitly put what our experience dictates 
in comparison with the case before us. Such a tacit 
comparison, if expressed, would be something of this 
kind : — The relation ivhich experience points out as 
existing between men universally, and the fact of their 
mortality, is precisely like the relation between Caius and 
the fact of his individual mortality. Thus the one truth is 
simply a particular instance of the other. The mind passes 
at once, intuitively, from the general case, as witnessed 
by experience, to the individual case now sought to be 
established; and the reasoning process, psychologically 
considered, consists in finding out the similarity of the 
relations which are involved in the two instances. The 
process may be, therefore, expressed as follows : — The 
case of man, as related to the actual phenomena of 



ON RATIOCINATION. 261 

mortality, is like the case of Cams as related to the 
inferred phenomena of mortality ; or, man : ascertained 
mortality :: Caius : inferred mortality; or, still more 
simply, the judgment, " Caius is mortal," is involved in 
the judgment, " man is mortal. 5 ' Thus, in whatever way 
the reasoning is expressed, or by whatever terms con- 
veyed, the mental process still remains the same, indi- 
cating simply a perception of the real similarity between 
the two pairs of relations. 

The value of this entire result, it is again evident, 
must depend altogether upon the uniformity of the 
relationship, involved in the general proposition, "All 
men are mortal ; " so that here, exactly as in the case of 
induction, we have to fall back upon our conviction 
of a fixed order in nature ; and only in proportion to 
our conviction of this, can the result of any deduction 
whatever be considered stable and sure. 

Hence, there may be an infinite gradation in the 
validity of an argument, according as the evidence is 
stronger or weaker in reference to the certainty of the 
general statement ; i.e., just in proportion as it is to be 
regarded as an established fact in nature, or not. The 
certainty of such a general statement will depend upon 
two considerations : — 1st, upon the degree of corre- 
spondence which exists between all the individuals which 
the class denotes; and, 2dly, according as the particular 
attribute affirmed of the class can be regarded as more 
or less essential to it. 

(1.) Where the highest conditions of certainty exist; 
that is, where there is perfect community of nature 
in all the individuals; and where we are dealing 
with some attribute which belongs essentially to that 
nature, the reasoning reaches the highest possible degree 
of certitude. Take, for example, as mere illustration, the 
proposition — " Every man possesses a brain!' Here the 



262 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

individuals comprehended in the general term "man" are 
not indeed absolutely alike, yet in all fundamental re- 
spects homogeneous ; and the attribute ascribed to them 
is one which is quite essential to the idea of humanity. 
The conclusion, therefore, that Caius has a brain (not- 
withstanding Caius may represent a savage of Central 
Africa or of the Feejee Islands), is virtually indubitable, 
although there are but few cases comparatively, in com- 
parison with the whole of mankind, in which we can know 
that this is the case by direct experience, observation, or 
testimony. We are so sure of the unity of the type, man, 
and so sure of the fixed order of nature in everything 
essentially appertaining to that type, that we have no doubt 
but that our conclusion, if put to the test, in any given 
case whatever, would be found to be perfectly verified. 

(2.) But now let us take a general proposition, relating 
to a class which includes in its nature a much greater 
variety of properties and of general structure. Let us 
take the proposition, " Every animal possesses a brain," 
and we feel at once that the affirmation is by no means 
certain; in other words, that the fact of possessing a 
brain is not so essentially distinctive of the class, animal, 
as it is of the type, man. Accordingly, any reasoning 
founded upon the relation between animals generally and 
the attribute of possessing a brain may be fallacious, 
although, in many instances, it might be perfectly correct. 

(3.) The same fallacy, again, would attach to any 
argument founded on a general proposition, in which the 
subject, indeed, is highly homogeneous, but where the 
attribute predicated of it is not of an obviously essential 
character. Thus, if we were to assert that all men are 
five-fingered, we might be led to exclude some excep- 
tional individuals from the class, man, although they have 
every possible claim to be ranked within it. The reason 
is, that the possession of five fingers on each hand does 



ON RATIOCINATION. 263 

not touch the essential attributes of humanity, physically 
considered. 

(4.) Once more, where the subject of our general 
assertion indicates a class, the nature of which is not 
clearly and sharply defined, it becomes proportionally 
difficult to determine which are essential attributes and 
which are not. In such cases we often have to guess at 
the general conception under which the phenomena of 
the case can be summed up, to try our theory by as 
many instances as fall within our reach, and let our con- 
clusion respecting all other instances hold good only so 
long as we find it sufficient to account for all the 
facts, and fail to discover any in which the theory is 
unsustained. Reasoning of this kind is termed hypo- 
thetical, and is valuable only as giving us a basis, or a 
line of direction for further research. Thus the general 
proposition, that all the phenomena of light are caused 
by undulations, is an hypothesis ; and any mode by which 
we account for individual phenomena, that present them- 
selves, on this principle must still be considered as 
hypothetical reasoning. Or, to take another illustration, 
if we go into the region of social science, where the 
nature of the materials treated of are as yet but ill- 
defined, and the essential properties of them extremely 
difficult to detect, nearly all our reasoning must be pro- 
nounced for the present, hypothetical. We know, for 
example, that most absolute monarchies have been at- 
tended with revolution and decay ; and we may frame 
an hypothesis, based upon these facts, that this is an 
essential condition of such a form of government. To 
conclude, therefore, that any particular absolute govern- 
ment now existing must at some time be attended by 
revolution, and lead to decay, would be simply an 
instance of hypothetical reasoning, which could have 
only just as much evidence as we could bring to bear 



264 LOGICAL PROCESSES OE THE HUMAN MIND. 

upon the essential relationship of the two terms. Addi- 
tional light thrown from various quarters upon the whole 
subject may, at some time, raise it above the region of 
hypothesis; but, until we can bring the elements of 
social science into the light of some general law, the 
reasoning we employ can hardly have any other than an 
hypothetical character. 

(5.) Lastly, there is one other case which it would be 
wrong to pass over, and that is the case of analogical 
reasoning. In analogical reasoning we have not only a 
great diversity in the nature of the subjects treated of, 
but also a diversity in the predicates we attach to them. 
It is true there must still be a decided similarity in the 
relations of the general and the particular case ; but the 
terms themselves are both widely diverse. Thus we 
might show that human history must pass through 
various stages, and come to a natural close, on the ground 
of its analogy with the life of man. The analogy may be 
put in this form : — As the life of man : the stages of 
human existence, :: the life of humanity : the stages 
of human history. Here there is an evident similarity 
in the two pairs of relations, but both the terms are quite 
dissimilar; and the conclusion, therefore, can never be 
considered in the light of a demonstrated fact. The value 
of analogy, like that of hypothesis, is simply to direct 
research; and it can in most cases only be used pro- 
fitably, even for this purpose, by minds possessed of 
great power of generalization and a deep insight into the 
more recondite laws and operation of nature. 

All these stages in the validity of the reasoning 
process, we may remark in passing, are equally manifest 
in the sphere of inductive as of deductive investigation. 
We only have to invert the terms of the question, and 
the same variations as to the certainty of the conclusion 
reappear, according as the particulars from which we 



ON RATIOCINATION. 



265 



start belong to a class in which the attributes are more 
or less perfectly denned, and the nature more or less 
homogeneous. 

Starting, then, from mathematical reasoning, in which 
(as we shall soon show) the nature of the materials 
treated of is perfectly homogeneous, and the attributes 
few and sharply defined, we find a regular progression 
in the degrees of certainty and uncertainty attaching to 
our conclusions, just in proportion as the subjects treated 
of become less homogeneous, and their attributes more 
numerous, varied, and indistinct. We may make this 
clear by putting down a series of examples, in which the 
relations between the general and the particular case are 
compared together, and in which the descending scale of 
certitude in the result can be plainly marked : — 

I. 



The relation of the 3 

angles in every triangle 

to 

two right angles 



The 
men 



relation of all 



to 



La cerebral development, 



The relation of all 
animals 

to 
a digestive apparatus 



is the 



II. 



like 



III. 



is like 



A 



The relation of the 

angles at A B C, 

to 
two right angles. 

The relation of Cams 
to 

the brain we believe 
^Caius to 



The relation of 
absolute monarchies 

to 
revolution and decay 



all 



IV. 



is like 



The relation of this\ 
tribe of Infusoria 

to 
the means of digestin 
Vfood. 

( The relation of the\ 
Austrian Empire 

1 t0 \ 

| its expected convulsions 
Vand decadence. / 



266 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 



The relation of maii^ 
to 

the stages of human 
life 



Y. 



is like 



The relation of hu- v 
inanity 

to 
the stages of human 
history. 



Here the conclusion in No. I. is a mathematical 
certainty ; in No. II. a physical certainty ; in No. III. 
a high probability; in No. IV. a hypothetical convic- 
tion ; in No. V. a mere suggestion as to what may be a 
natural parallel, grounded on the general analogy of the 
two cases. In every instance but the first (which comes 
within the province of quantitative reasoning) the mental 
process involved in the act of inference is simply an 
intuition of the similarity of the particular to the 
general relation, and the consequent establishment of a 
fixed connexion between the subject and predicate of 
the one, grounded on the conviction we have attained 
of the universal connexion which exists between them in 
the other. We come next to 



II. RELATIONAL REASONING. 

All qualitative reasoning, whether in the inductive or 
deductive form, is based on the idea of classes, and the 
relation of the parts of comprehension to the whole. 
By means of induction we attempt to make our general 
notions perfectly correspond with the natural orders of 
real existences, and connect together all things around 
us according to their essential attributes. By means of 
deduction we then reason down from the generalizations 
thus established to individual cases. 

In the whole of this twofold procedure we are dealing 
simply with the qualities of things, — qualities which can 
he compared as like or unlike. We are seeking to find 



ON RATIOCINATION. 267 

what attributes uniformly co-exist with certain others, so 
that whenever we see a given combination of qualities in 
nature we know immediately that some other quality 
must, according to the uniform order of nature, co- 
exist with it, though it may elude our direct observa- 
tion. 

In all comparisons of this kind we can only go to the 
extent of saying that one set of relations is like another. 
There is no identity in the cases, no exact measurement, 
no definite proportion. The very nature of the qualities 
contemplated precludes this ; and the whole reasoning 
turns upon their mere co-existence, not upon their being 
more or less intense. 

The moment, however, we turn from the co-existence 
of qualities, according to classes and sub-classes, to 
estimate the relative intensities of these qualities in 
different objects, the form of reasoning becomes changed. 

If I reason thus — " All substances possess weight — air 
is a substance, therefore air possesses weight " — I simply 
reason qualitatively as to the co-existence of a certain 
attribute in the substance termed air. 

If I reason — "Water is heavier than oil, and oil is 
heavier than alcohol, therefore water is heavier than 
alcohol" — I am not touching the question of the co- 
existence of one attribute with another, but simply the 
question of their relative intensities in different objects. 

In the former case, the compared relations take this 
form — 



The relation of sub- 
stances 

to 
weight generally 



is like 



f The relation of 
the substance air 

to 
its weight. 



In the latter case, the compared relations take this 
form — 



268 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

The pressure of water \ ( The pressure of al- 

in proportion to its I is greater than \ cohol in proportion to 
bulk j (its bulk. 

And, supposing we are unable to discover the differ- 
ence in the intensities of pressure by direct observation, 
we might be able to do so by a comparison of those 
intensities with that of oil (the middle term) thus — 

B 

The relative weight of oil. 





. The relative weight *~ — ^ — — ^ The relative weight ^ 

of water. of alcohol. 

Here the reasoning depends on the comparison of 
weight, and a given bulk of water with weight, and a 
given bulk of alcohol through the medium of the com- 
parison of both with weight and a given bulk of oil. If 
A, the first relation, is greater than B, the second rela- 
tion, and B is greater than C, the third relation, then A 
must be greater than C. 

Wherever we have a case of reasoning based upon 
the relative intensities of qualities to each other it falls 
into this particular form. Thus we may reason in the 
same way, — a is greener than b, b is greener than c .*. 
a is greener than c ; or, John is taller than Edward, 
Edward is taller than Harry .". John is taller than 
Harry. If I take a piece of cloth to the shop in order 
to match the colour of a piece of ribbon at home, the 
reasoning which underlies the process is virtually the 
same. I judge of the relative intensities of the two 
colours I want to match, by their respective comparison 
with the third colour. My reasoning, therefore, is still 
the indirect establishment of relations ; but these are 



ON RATIOCINATION. 269 

now relations of intensity, not relations of co-existence, as 
in the ordinary reasoning of the syllogism. 

The element of time, as involved in co-existence, how- 
ever, is not necessarily exclnded from the entire category 
of relational reasoning. There may be a comparison of 
the time of one event, in relation to some fixed period, 
with the time of some other event ; in which case the 
terms greater than, or less than, will simply be converted 
into the terms before and after, and the reasoning will 
then proceed just as before. Thus, I want to know 
whether John or Edward came home first, and I have 
no means of knowing except by comparing the arrival of 
both with that of a third person, Harry. Accordingly I 
reason — 

John came home before Harry, 

And Harry came home before Edward, 

.*. John came home before Edward. 

Here the reason turns evidently upon the time-relation 
of events to each other. 

There is yet another kind of relational reasoning we 
may mention, and that is where there are four terms in 
the analogy instead of three, and the subjects between 
which the analogies are drawn are not homogeneous. 
We want to know the price of 3 qrs. 7 lbs. of cheese ; 
and we find it by comparing 3 qrs. 7 lbs. with 1^ cwt., 
whose price we know to be 21. 12s. The ordinary form 
of stating this is by an arithmetical analogy — 

As l|cwt. : '21. 12s. : : 3 qrs. 7 lbs. : 11. 8s. 2d. 
which, being put into the form we have already 
employed to show the comparison of relations, would 
be— 

(The relation of 3 qrs. 
"lbs 
U Is. 2d. 



270 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

The same form of reasoning occurs in Trigonometry, 
and all branches of Mathematics, in which reasoning is 
employed to establish the equalities oi proportion or ratio. 
Just as all qualitative reasoning is a simple development 
of the formula — 

A is like B. 
So relational reasoning is a development of the formulas — 

is greater or less than > 

is before or after 
bears the same propor- 
tion to something else as 

We have now, therefore, only one case left, that, 
namely, in which the whole of the reasoning process is a 
development of the formula 

A = B. 

This will lead us to the consideration of 



III. QUANTITATIVE REASONING. 

Quantitative reasoning is based entirely upon the idea 
of space. Qualities taken alone do not admit of exact 
measurement, though they may still be roughly compared 
as to their relative intensities. Time, in like manner, 
taken alone, does not admit of exact measurement any 
more than ordinary qualities, though any event in time 
can be compared as before or after, and as longer or 
shorter, in respect to duration, than another. The pro- 
portions between two pairs of heterogeneous objects 
may also be compared, as those between a line and an 
angle, although no absolute or fixed quantity can in such 
cases be involved. 

So soon, however, as definite measurement is intro- 
duced, we know that we have got into the category of 
quantity, properly so called ; and all our reasoning will 



ON RATIOCINATION. 271 

now turn upon the indirect establishment of absolute 
equalities between the objects of our research. 

Equalities, it is true, may be established between 
things in relation to time, force, value, motion, &c, as 
well as in relation to quantity ; but these can only be 
established through the intervention of space as the 
universal measure of them all. Time can only be 
measured precisely by the motion of some object in 
space ; force can only be measured exactly by the power 
it has of producing a motion, in which the spaces passed 
over shall be proportional to the intensities. Even 
value, if it has to be reduced to exact measurement, 
must be referred to weight ; and weight is merely a case 
of force that has, like all other, to be measured by 
motion. Lastly, motion itself can only be measured by 
the relation subsisting between the spaces passed over 
and the times occupied in passing over them. In fine, 
wherever equality is predicated between any two things 
whatever, the basis of our knowledge can only be found in 
the perception of space; for, even number itself is 
grounded originally on units of space, and the formula 
2 = 2 is only true in the concrete, when each of the 
units involved, is in its last analysis the symbol of equal 
magnitudes. 

All quantitative reasoning, then, is but the application 
of the formula A = B to cases where the equality of the 
two terms is not cognisable by direct observation. The 
simplest form of it is that in which we make a com- 
parison of lines and surfaces, in order to establish 
relations of equality between them. This is what we 
ordinarily term, Geometrical reasoning. 

The mental processes which underlie all geometrical 
reasoning are either the direct comparison of two magni- 
tudes, by imagining one to be placed upon the other, 
and finding that they coincide in every respect j or the 



272 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

indirect comparison of them by means of a common 
term. In this case we compare the three magnitudes in 
pairs. First of all, we cognise A = B by a direct 
observation, then we cognise B = C by a direct observa- 
tion ; and this leads to a mental act, which is expressed 
by the axiom — " Things which are equal to the same 
are equal to each other, and from which we conclude 
A = C." This mental act can hardly be decomposed; 
it is the direct application of the concept of equality to a 
particular case, and contains in it the actual transition 
of our consciousness from the known to the unknown 
relation ; that is to say, in other words, it contains in it 
the reasoning process as occupied with quantitative com- 
parisons, in its barest and simplest form. 

As we pursue the process of geometric reasoning 
onward, the cases to which it is applied become more 
and more complex. Other axioms (which are really but 
expansions of the first or fundamental one), come into 
play, such as — 

If equals be added to equals the wholes are equal. 

If equals be taken from equals the remainders are equal. 

If equals be added to unequals the wholes are unequal. 

If equals be taken from unequals the wholes are 
unequal. 

Here longer trains of comparisons must generally 
be employed in order to establish the equalities re- 
quired ; but the mental process throughout is the same. 
The second term of every comparison becomes the first 
term of the next ; or equalities before cognised are intro- 
duced as intermediate steps ; and in this way the result 
is at length attained. 

Another form of quantitative reasoning is the Alge- 
braical, or the method of Elimination. An equation is 
the affirmation of equality between interpretable symbols. 
Every step in the equation is simply a reassertion of the 



ON RATIOCINATION. 273 

same fundamental equality after certain equivalent sub- 
tractions, additions, or modifications of form, on both 
sides. The mind can thus proceed from one step to 
another, having a perfect intuition of equality in each 
case by a direct comparison of it with the preceding 
step. 

Taking the Geometrical and Algebraical methods 
together, a scientific instrumentality is gained, by which 
quantitative reasoning can be applied to questions of 
statics and dynamics, and all other branches of natural 
philosophy, in which the quantities compared are repre- 
sentable by lines, surfaces, or interpretable symbols of 
any kind whatever. 

CONCLUSION. 

Looking back now over the whole theory of reasoning 
as above explained, we see that there is a regular 
progression from the case, in which there is perfect 
equality in the terms compared, up to that in which 
there is only a certain proportion between them ; from 
proportion up to similarity ; from similarity of the closest 
description onwards to similarity of a more general kind ; 
and at last to a mere similarity in the relations without 
there being any similarity whatever in the actual terms 
themselves. The points of difference in the terms, and 
the variety in the number of elements to be taken into 
account become greater, exactly in proportion as the 
similarity becomes less. Thus, in quantitative reasoning 
we have to consider only equalities of magnitude; in 
relational reasoning, only proportions between magni- 
tudes, it may be of the same, or it may be of different, 
kinds; while in qualitative reasoning, we have to 
consider and compare things which have indeed funda- 
mentally the same nature, but whose nature is not 

T 



274 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

perfectly denned, and involves a large number of 
attributes, both essential and non-essential. In analo- 
gical reasoning alone, the entire similarity in the nature 
of the things compared disappears, and we reason 
simply from the parallel which exists in the mode of 
comparison itself. 

In all reasoning alike, however, the same fundamental 
character always reappears — namely, the establishment 
of certain relations, either of magnitude, proportion, or 
similarity in quality, between the terms involved, and 
that by an indirect process which involves one or more 
intermediate steps. 

Accordingly, the mental laws involved are precisely 
the same as those we have already pointed out — 
namely, the intuitive power of perceiving differences 
and similarities, of uniting and of separating phenomena 
mentally, according to their nature and relations. It is 
this process repeated, and developed, and drawn out 
into all its manifold results by the use of indirect means, 
which marks the entire process of our mental de- 
velopment, from the first distinction we make between 
two simple sensations up to the very highest analysis in 
mathematics or physics. 

The proof of this lies in the simple fact, that in every 
case alike the consciousness of similarity or difference is 
the one indecomposable mental act which lies at the 
basis of all our perceptions, all our ideas, all our con- 
cepts, and is now seen to be the one indivisible element 
which forms the real psychological foundation of all our 
powers of reasoning. 



CHAPTER V. 

ON THE A PRIORI ELEMENT IN OUR MENTAL 
PROCESSES GENERALLY. 



We have now traced the genesis of our perceptions, 
ideas, concepts, and reasonings, from their most element- 
ary np to their most complex forms. In doing so, what 
answer does the whole of our analysis return to the oft- 
mooted question respecting the origin of our ideas and 
judgments ? Do we find that there are any which may 
be termed a priori, or are they all found to be the direct 
productions of human experience ? 

To these questions, it must be frankly confessed, we 
are not able to give any categorical answer. The reason 
why we are not able to do so is, that the questions them- 
selves are indefinite — that they do not present any real 
alternative, but require to be explained anew, in accord- 
ance with the psychological principles now advocated. 
We must endeavour, therefore, to take a brief review of 
the controversy, and show in what precise sense the 
problem of the origin of our ideas may be most satis- 
factorily solved. 

During the middle ages, the well-known canon, 
" Nihil est in intellectu, quod non prius in sensu," 
was considered to be a complete expression of the truth 
in reference to the origin of our ideas. The senses, it 
was held, are, as it were, the windows of the soul, 
through which the facts of the outer world are let in to 
the mind; and these facts, when thus let in, form the 

t 2 



276 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

sole material out of which the subsequent superstructure 
of human knowledge is built up. 

Descartes began his philosophy by casting doubts 
upon this philosophical axiom, and showed, with great 
acuteness, that it will not serve as a basis for any 
satisfactory theory of human knowledge. Having 
destroyed the credit of mere sense-knowledge, he took 
refuge in the doctrine of innate ideas. 

Locke, in his turn, destroyed the credit of innate 
ideas, and returned pretty nearly to the old stand-point, 
though with a much deeper insight into the nature and 
bearings of the problem itself. 

Leibnitz, half convinced by Locke, and yet unwilling 
to surrender altogether to the claims of empiricism, 
remodelled the middle-age formula by adding to it, nisi 
intettectus ipse; that is, he admitted that there is 
nothing in the intellect which has not come to it 
through the senses, but affirmed that the intellect itself, 
the rational power, the forms of thought by which the 
material of the senses is raised into the region of intel- 
lectual ideas — that these must be prior to experience, 
and altogether independent of it. 

In throwing out this consideration, Leibnitz intro- 
duced altogether another point of view into the whole 
controversy. He divided the question of ideas into two 
parts — the one relating to their matter, the other to 
their form — and struck the first note of a new philo- 
sophical era. 

Kant took up the controversy from this Leibnitzian 
point of view, and aimed at discovering what in the 
entire range of human consciousness belongs to the 
matter of our knowledge, and what to the form. What- 
ever belongs to the former, he admitted, must be purely 
of an a posteriori character; but whatever belongs to 
the latter, he held, must as certainly be wholly a priori. 



ON THE A PRIORI ELEMENT. 277 

The question, viewed from this stand-point, presents 
altogether a different aspect from what it did in the 
hands of Descartes and Locke. The search which 
psychologists have made over and over again to find out 
which of our ideas come from experience, and which are 
a priori, is now seen to be wholly fruitless; and the 
inquiry assumes this shape : What element in all our 
intellectual processes comes from the mind itself as the 
inward and formative principle, and what element comes 
from without as the substantive or material principle ? 

That there are no ideas or judgments which are 
wholly a priori, must be, in the present state of psycho- 
logical analysis, readily granted. Even those which seem 
to lay the very best claim to an a priori origin, such as 
the ideas of time and space, we hold, may be decom- 
posed, and the method of their inward construction and 
growth pointed out. To show this, we refer our 
readers to the Second Part of this work, in which 
the perception of space is analyzed. This perception, 
when abstracted from any present objects with which it 
is associated, becomes, like any other, generalized into 
tin idea and then into a concept. 

On the other hand, if the Sensationalist should meet 
us with the assertion that all our ideas and judgments 
are wholly and entirely the products of external ex- 
perience, we may at once join issue on this point, and 
question whether any of them are ; whether in the very 
simplest operations of mind — whether even in the 
formation of any primary perception, there is not a 
mental element at work which is prior to experience, 
and which enters into every mental act as an indis- 
pensable and most unquestionable factor. Let us look 
back upon the processes which our analysis has already 
detected and classified, and see what there is to justify 
this view of the case. 



278 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

If we go back to the most primitive facts of mind, 
we find that there are certain impulses, and tendencies 
to action, which are impressed upon the nervous system 
prior to all consciousness. These impulses are admitted 
on all hands to be connate; or, at all events, to 
present modes of nervous action which are prior to 
and independent of all individual experience. If we 
next view the phenomena of instinct — instinct, that 
is, as seen in the animal, and as developed with equal 
clearness in man prior to its being supplanted by 
the superior influence of reason, here, too, we can 
trace a series of mental phenomena (phenomena, more- 
over, that imply design and purpose), which arise 
within us whenever the proper incentives to them occur, 
quite apart from any, even the least guidance of past 
experience. The same thing is true, in a modified sense, 
with regard to our whole sensational life. Every indi- 
vidual has a peculiar form and degree of sensibility of 
his own, which is clearly born with him, and with the 
production or modification of which personal experience 
has had nothing whatever to do. 

All these phenomena tend to establish the fact that 
every human being has from his birth an individuality 
of his own. We may see this individuality, more or 
less, from the very first, in the physical organization, in 
the peculiarity of temperament evinced by the tone of 
voice and the distinctive gestures ; in a word, in the 
specific type which the individual bears, from childhood 
upwards, to youth and maturity. 

This individuality, at any rate, in whatever it may 
really consist, is wholly anterior to, and independent of, 
experience ; it must, therefore, spring out of some 
a priori peculiarity, and, so far at least, must present a 
great human fact, standing in direct opposition to the 
purely a posteriori view of human mind and character. 



ON THE A PRIORI ELEMENT. 279 

But to this it might be replied that all these instinctive 
impulses, these distinctive modes of expression, and 
these traces of a peculiar individuality in each man, have 
nothing to do with our ideas ; that such phenomena may- 
exist while yet our ideas are all formed from experience. 
This argument is, to a certain extent, valid, but not 
wholly so. The moulding of our ideas into their dis- 
tinctive shape may, it is true, be altogether experimental 
and a posteriori, notwithstanding the existence of any 
amount of original peculiarity in the instinctive, the 
sensational, and the emotional systems. But still it 
must be remembered that the material of these ideas 
comes originally from our sensational and emotive life, 
so that any peculiarity which this material may possess, 
arising out of the peculiar " timbre " of our sensibility, 
will be undoubtedly carried over into the ideas themselves. 

And this it is, in fact, which mainly forms that dis- 
tinctive feature of mind which we call genius. The root 
of every man's genius lies in the primitive type of his 
sensational and emotive nature. This type influences all 
his perceptions, thoughts, and actions • it determines 
the hue under which every phenomenon from without 
presents itself to his consciousness ; it thus modifies the 
growth and development of all his ideas, and, through 
them, of his concepts, judgments, and reasonings. In 
this respect, therefore, we may say that there is an 
a priori element in them all, which mingles itself up 
with that whole experimental process by which our 
"mental tissue" is gradually constructed. 

The question is, of course, still left open, whence 
this original type of individuality is derived ? It might 
still be argued, that what experience and external influ- 
ence cannot be supposed to effect, as far as the individual 
is concerned, may still be the result of circumstances 
acting, generation after generation, upon the race. This, 



280 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

of course, opens up a great deal of speculation in the 
department of transcendental physiology, — speculation 
which, as applied to the gradual modification of species, 
has not been unfruitful in probable results. Its applica- 
tion, however, to the question of individuality is more 
than doubtful. If we must go into such speculations at 
all, we should certainly argue that it is much more 
consonant with the highest idea of creation to regard the 
infinite varieties of individual character as being a part 
of the original idea of the creative mind, than as the 
fortuitous result of combinations of circumstances. How 
such combinations could produce a dozen different 
individualities in so many children of the very same 
parents, it is certainly beyond the reach of transcendental 
physiology to conceive, much more to explain. 

The above considerations tend undoubtedly to esta- 
blish the fact of an a priori element lying at the founda- 
tion of every human individuality. But, then, the con- 
struction of distinctive ideas, such as time, and space, and 
duty, and causality, and quantity, and quality, &c, it may 
be urged, does not depend on any peculiar human indi- 
viduality. What have we to say, therefore, respecting all 
such distinctive ideas? Must we admit them to be 
wholly a posteriori in their origin, and thus confine 
the a priori element to that which forms the pecu- 
liarity of human genius and character ? Or can we find 
anything in the intellectual processes, formally con- 
sidered, which must be regarded as a priori in its nature 
and origin % 

On this point our analysis is decisive. We have traced 
the construction of man's intellectual nature from the 
very first budding forth of intelligence up to the highest 
power of ratiocination, and there is only one element in 
the whole which we can single out as lying beyond the 
region of all possible analysis, and that is, the great 



ON THE A PRIORI ELEMENT. 281 

twofold law of recognition and distinction — the power of 
perceiving similarities and differences. This power, we 
have seen, dates its activity back to the very first move- 
ments of our conscious life. No sooner do we begin to 
expsrience sensations than the mind begins to react upon 
them as the primary material of its intelligence. The 
same kinds of sensations, when they recur, are recog- 
nised, and different ones are perceived as different. The 
law of similarity begins its operations spontaneously; 
like experiences unconsciously melt together, and unlike 
ones are held apart ; and thus commences, as we have 
already seen, even in infancy, the first stage of our intel- 
lectual being. As the mind develops, we find the very 
same twofold law lying tacitly at the basis of all its 
successive operations \ and we have shown how, by its 
simple application, one faculty after another is con- 
structed, until the very highest forms of mental activity 
are generated and brought to perfection. It is 
this twofold law, therefore, which lies at the root of all 
our intelligence, formally considered, which defies all 
further analysis, and which we must regard as being the 
one a priori basis of our whole rational nature. 

So far as this great law of intelligence enters, there- 
fore, into the composition of our ideas, we may say with 
strict accuracy that those ideas have an a priori element 
in their constitution. With regard to the question, How 
large an element in our ideas this a priori element con- 
stitutes ? this will have to be answered very differently, 
according to the nature of the particular idea we are 
considering. Every idea possesses matter and form ; 
i.e., it possesses some basis derived from our connexion 
with the outer world, and it bears upon it the type of that 
human intelligence which has apprehended this outward 
material, thought it, and thus made it its own. But 
the relative proportion of the material and the formal 



282 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

element is very various. There are some of our ideas 
(those, for example, of sensible things around us) in 
which the matter is so predominant over the form, that 
we seem to apprehend the external reality exactly as it 
exists, and are not conscious, without the closest atten- 
tion, of the part which the mind itself plays in the 
perceptions we form of them. As our ideas recede 
further from our primary perceptions, the formal element 
gradually increases, until at last the idea becomes 
almost the pure reflex of the laws of thought by which 
it exists, with scarcely a perceptible trace of any 
external element whatever. 

Thus the perception of space, as we have seen, first 
arises in connexion with the motion of real objects 
around us. But gradually we begin to divest our space- 
perceptions of their primary and more concrete cha- 
racter. We consider size, and form, and distance, apart 
from any particular size, any particular form, and any 
particular distance ; and thus, in process of time, having 
abstracted all other modifications, we come to think of 
space per se ; i.e., the generalized idea of extension, 
apart from any particular application of it to the world 
without. This we term generally the idea of space ; — 
an idea from which the external material has been 
almost wholly abstracted, while the intellectual form is 
left well nigh alone to represent the entire conception. 

We cannot say, therefore, even in regard to these 
most abstract and formal of our ideas, that they are 
wholly of an a priori character. So far from that, 
we can trace their formation upwards, from their first 
groundwork in our perceptions to their most purely 
intellectual form. But yet, when we consider how 
little of any external material they finally contain, and 
how largely they come to be the mere reflex of the 
primary laws of thought, we shall not be wrong in saying 



ON THE A PRIORI ELEMENT. 283 

that their composition implies a vast predominance of the 
a priori element. 

The doctrine of the a priori element in our mental 
processes may thus be summed up in a very few 
words. There are two ingredients in every mental 
operation, which are purely of an a priori character ; 
these are, 1st, The distinctive type of our individuality, 
by which the whole material of our knowledge is coloured 
and modified ; and, 2dly, The great fundamental law of 
the intellect, by which the general form of our thoughts 
is moulded and fixed. While, therefore, on the one 
hand, we may truly say that there is no such thing as an 
a priori idea, we may with equal truth say, on the other 
hand, that there is no idea, however simple, which does 
not contain an d priori element mingled up both with 
its matter and with its form. 

The same line of argument applies equally to our 
natural judgments. There is no such thing as a purely 
a priori judgment, any more than a purely a priori idea ; 
although it is perfectly true, on the other hand, that 
every judgment we form contains an a priori element in 
it. Every quantitative judgment, for example, may be 
reduced to the formulas, " A is equal to B," or " A is 
not equal to B." The material which is indicated by 
the symbols A and B are in this case originally real 
concrete magnitudes which appeal to us through the 
senses. The form of the judgment in both cases repre- 
sents the indecomposable mental acts by which we have 
a direct intuitive cognition of the equality or inequality 
of such magnitudes. These two mental acts correspond 
to the law of identity and the law of contradiction, which 
are simply the logical expressions for what we term in 
psychology the laws of recognition and distinction. 

If now we turn to the qualitative judgment we must 
here take as our formula the expression, " A is like B ; " 



284 LOGICAL PROCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND. 

" like " meaning that the two objects present one or 
more attributes in common. Here the terms may con- 
sist of any concepts we please, from the most concrete to 
the most abstract. The more concrete the terms the 
larger is the element of direct experience which is mani- 
fested in the judgment. The more abstract the terms 
the more does the judgment represent the mere law of 
thought from which it internally originates. 

Every universal judgment {e.g., All men are mortal) 
transcends, it is true, the range of experience as to its 
matter as well as its form, and is based, as we before 
said, on the conviction we have of the uniformity of the 
laws of nature. But even this conviction is a mental 
result, which springs out of the principle of classification 
as applied to the objects of nature around us. The 
judgment, " All men are rational," expresses simply the 
fact that whenever we see a man we at once classify 
him in that group which is distinguished by the attri- 
bute of reason. The universal judgment is accordingly 
a direct application of the law of identity A = A, or 
Man = man. If the equation here shown be true, then 
whatever is essential to man must re-appear wherever a 
human being exists, and vice versa. Thus the laws of 
identity and contradiction are simply a translation into 
logical terms of the fundamental laws of psychology, 
identity and contradiction on the one hand, recognition 
and distinction on the other, alike exhibiting the one 
indecomposable mental act which lies at the basis of all 
our judgments. 



PART V. 



THE HUMAN REASON. 



CHAPTER I. 

EXPLANATION OF WHAT WE ARE TO UNDERSTAND 
BY THE TERM REASON. 

Almost all languages possess two different words corre- 
sponding more or less closely to the terms understanding 
and reason. In the French language we have the words 
intelligence and raison ; and, in German, the still more 
distinctive terms, Verstand and Vernunft. Many attempts 
have been made to define with some degree of sharpness 
the precise difference between these two ideas. Such 
attempts, however, have for the most part been unsatis- 
factory, from the fact of their being based upon the 
supposition that man possesses a certain number of 
separate and peculiar faculties. Every effort to make out 
a distinct faculty called understanding, and another dis- 
tinct faculty called reason, has failed, and necessarily so, 
from the false point of view whence the whole question is 
regarded. All our intellectual processes so completely 
interpenetrate each other, that it is impossible to sepa- 
rate them into distinct faculties, and assign distinct pro- 
vinces to each. Still, there must be some good ground 
for the use of the term reason* as a peculiar form of 
intelligence ; and it is this ground which we have now to 
investigate. 

The best way in which we can set out on this investi- 
gation is to consider, first of all, what would be defective 
in the whole structure of the human mind, were it to 
possess all the powers of intelligence we have already 



288 THE HUMAN REASON. 

noted, and nothing more. There are many inhabitants 
of our lunatic asylums who possess all these powers to 
perfection. They have clear perceptions, and perfectly- 
formed ideas ; they have memory ; the faculty of speech, 
often to a marvellous degree ; and, beside this, the power 
of reasoning logically, sometimes with great acuteness, 
upon almost any given data. What is it, then, that 
fails ? Simply this, — they have lost their reason ; and, 
therefore, can hold no proper place in the ordinary life 
and intercourse of humanity. 

But what do we mean when we say that they have 
lost their reason ? They can talk and argue, and employ 
all kinds of ideas and concepts in a perfectly regular and 
normal way. The point, it is plain, in which they fail is, 
in the power of co-ordinating all their intellectual pro- 
cesses, so as to produce in the aggregate a rational 
result. Thus they often mistake sensations for ideas, 
and vice versa. ; they form notions, and regard them as 
objective facts ; they confuse, in this way, the product of 
one faculty with that of another, and thus disturb all the 
normal foundations both of faith and knowledge. 

The ordinary use of the word reason, if we look 
closely into it, coincides pretty nearly with the concep- 
tion of it which flows naturally from the above example. 
Thus, we say that an animal has instinct, but not reason. 
He can perceive, feel, remember, and be the subject of 
many other intellectual processes ; he is, moreover, 
impelled to certain actions and modes of life by virtue of 
an obscure form of intelligence, akin to reason, which 
resides in his nature. But he has no conscious and 
voluntary power of putting together the results of all his 
various mental processes, and of calculating distant con- 
clusions by virtue of them. 

We speak again, in common life, of a person acting 
according to reason ; being reasonable in his views ; 



EXPLANATION OF THE TERM REASON. 289 

being able to give a reason for what he does. There is 
one fundamental idea which runs through all expressions 
of this nature ; and that is, the idea of acting consciously 
upon a plan which has been duly considered and 
voluntarily adapted to the circumstances of each case. 
This idea of the nature of reason, again, fully coincides 
with that before noticed, namely, that it is to be regarded 
as the co-ordinating power in relation to all our other 
intellectual processes — as that which gives unity and 
solidarity to them, aiding us at once in the pursuit of 
truth, and in adapting our lives to the state of things in 
w r hich we exist. 

This conception of the province of reason again fully 
coincides with that which w T e ought to regard as the 
highest form of life. All life, as has been well shown 
by a recent author, may be regarded as an expres- 
sion of the power which every living being has, to 
adapt itself to its environment. Every animal is formed 
to exist in harmony with the peculiar elements of nature 
which surround it. Life, considered as active and 
objective, consists in the capacity of keeping up the 
proper adjustment between the animal organization on 
the one side, and the conditions of its well-being on the 
other. The vital functions can only go forward so long 
as this adjustment is maintained inviolate. Take a fish 
out of his native element, and he dies ; deprive our 
lungs of air, and we die likewise. Deprive the stomach 
of proper nutriment, and the vital economy is at once 
deranged ; deprive the eye of light, and its proper 
function ceases. It is mainly to keep up this adjust- 
ment that the lower animals have so many remarkable 
instincts given them. The modes by which insects, 
fishes, reptiles, birds, and quadrupeds, manage to secure 
their food and ward off danger from themselves and 
their offspring would fill, and do fill, many a volume 

u 



290 THE HUMAN REASON. 

of natural history. Naturalists show us that they all 
have their peculiar modes of life strictly adapted to their 
nature and circumstances, and that if anything interferes 
with this adaptation beyond a certain point, then death 
is the inevitable result. Animal life, accordingly, in its 
continuity, is only possible on the basis of such a 
constant adjustment. 

What is instinctive, then, to the animal tribes becomes 
reason, for the most part, in the case of man. The 
primeval savage adapts himself to his environment, 
shelters himself from the weather, hunts wild animals, 
clothes himself in their skins, and leads a life in which 
we see the force of instinct just struggling out into the 
higher form of reason. Feeble and infantile as this 
reason is, still it governs all his faculties, co-ordinates all 
his actions, and enables him to adjust himself to the 
circumstances around him with sufficient efficacy to 
maintain his existence and continue his species. 

The age in which pasture and agriculture begin to 
show some vitality indicates already a much higher 
development of the reason. To prepare the ground, 
sow the seed, watch the young plant, and gather in the 
harvest, are processes which require foresight and 
calculation. Reason, in directing the entire course of 
human action as here manifested, draws every mental 
and bodily power into its service. It governs the 
motives, the thoughts, the actions of the man, and 
prompts him to provide for his own sustenance and 
happiness upon a much more elaborate scale than is 
done by the mere savage. 

As society increases, new problems of life arise ; those, 
namely, which seek to adjust the relations of property, 
and govern the actions of men in reference to each other. 
Social life thus takes its start ; and reason, as applied to 
the necessities and wants of society, gives rise to law, 



EXPLANATION OF THE TERM REASON. 291 

government, jurisprudence, and, last of all, perhaps, to 
social science. Here, as in the case of the lowest animalcule, 
life, though now elevated to its higher form, can only be 
kept up by a proper adjustment of human activity to the 
new series of circumstances which every new develop- 
ment successively involves. Without law, society could 
not hold together ; and man, when driven out of society 
with its aids and incentives, would inevitably revert 
again to the nomadic, and eventually to the savage state. 
In this state, the population would diminish down to the 
scanty possibilities of obtaining food and shelter ; and 
thus, the sum of human life would become again pro- 
portional to the small amount of adaptation which 
the reason in this, its lower state of development, could 
effect between human necessities and outward circum- 
stances. 

Then, lastly, we come to the age of science, where we 
see the human reason in its more mature form investi- 
gating nature, prying into its elements, interpreting its 
laws, and then making all subservient to the wants of 
mankind. The age of science, accordingly, answers, 
necessarily, to a much more elevated and civilized form 
of human life than the ages could possibly be which 
preceded it. In the present day there is hardly one of 
what we now regard as the commonest wants, decencies, 
or proprieties of human life, which does not owe its 
existence to some wheel of that vast and complicated 
scientific machinery which the human mind has worked 
out, and which now gives direction to the greater part 
of the thoughts and energies of mankind. Practical and 
applied science is thus on a large scale a mighty adjust- 
ment between the powers of nature and the wants of 
man ; and the amount of human life bears a due propor- 
tion to the vastness of the scale on which this adjust- 
ment takes place. 

u 2 



292 THE HUMAN REASON. 

But we are not only surrounded by elements of 
nature, which we adapt to our personal wants and 
conveniences, — we are surrounded by forms of infinite 
beauty, by a universe which displays the most elaborate 
care and design, by a world, too, of human action ; and 
to these objective facts and realities the mind has 
respondent thoughts, emotions, sympathies, and desires. 
Reason, then, has once more to resume its task, and 
show us how we are to adapt our life, the higher life of 
the soul, to this environment of Divine beneficence and 
human Brotherhood. Morality and religion are essential 
to the full bloom of the human mind and the highest 
form of society ; and it is the reason which again in this 
highest sense adjusts the relations between the actions 
and habits of man, and the moral universe in the midst 
of which he is placed. 

The great thing in which the exercise of reason differs 
from all the other intellectual processes is, its capacity of 
dealing with a multiplicity of objects and ideas at once, 
and drawing general results out of them all. In memory, 
in imagination, in dealing with concepts, whether in the 
form of a simple judgment or a syllogistic act of reason- 
ing, we have simply to do with one or two ideas at a 
time, which are either recalled, or embellished, or com- 
pared together. But in exercising our reason, we hold 
many threads in our hands, and bring them all into one 
centre, so as to educe a general result. The extent to 
which the reason is developed in any given case (whether 
of an individual or a nation) is measured exactly by the 
number and the remoteness of the relations which can 
be grasped at one single view. The savage can show 
great acuteness and cunning in dealing with a few 
simple relations ; but, beyond this capability, he becomes 
utterly baffled. The wild Indian can plan a secret 
attack upon his enemy; but the attempt to grasp the 



EXPLANATION OF THE TERM REASON. 293 

strategical relations of a modern battle lies entirely be- 
yond his reach. The South-Sea Islander can navigate 
his canoe from one port to another, with only a few 
indications to guide him ; but he would only gaze with 
baffled wonder upon the mariner's compass and the 
ocean chart. And so in every case, the remoteness of 
the means towards securing any given end is an almost 
perfect measure of the power of the reason which grasps 
and applies them. 

From the explanations now given, it will be at once 
understood why reason is justly called the truth-organ 
of the human soul, the guide and director of human 
activity. What is truth, but a just apprehension of the 
relations of things in this universe to which we belong ? 
And in what other light can reason be viewed, than as 
the truth-organ of the soul, when it is by reason alone 
that these relations in all their complexity can be known 
or appreciated ? Different, therefore, as reason is in its 
character and results from the mere exercise of the 
logical understanding, yet it does not involve any funda- 
mentally different law of mental activity. The cognition 
of relations and differences on a small scale, and between 
a limited number of objects or ideas, is involved alike in 
perception, ideation, and ali the acts of the logical under- 
standing. It is the power of cognising remote relations 
and differences, and those as existing between a larger 
variety of objects, which forms the distinctive and essen- 
tial characteristic of the human reason. Reason, therefore, 
simply exhibits the great law of intelligence in its highest 
intensity, forming, as we said, the truth-organ of the soul. 

Truth, however, is very various in its nature and 
materials, and very variously apprehended accordingly. 
It is a truth that this sheet of paper is now lying before 
me ; that Napoleon Buonaparte existed ; that the angles 
at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal ; that the 



294 THE HUMAN REASON. 

earth moves round the sun ; that every effect must have 
a cause ; that the world was made by a Creator. But 
how different in these cases is the material of which the 
truth consists — the mental process by which it is appre- 
hended — the evidence on which it rests — and the con- 
viction with which it can be forced on the minds of 
others ! In some cases, we say that truth is the reflex 
of knowledge \ in others, of faith ; in others, simply of 
opinion. To enter fully, therefore, into the psychology 
of the human reason, we must investigate the nature 
and the grounds of human knowledge, show where know- 
ledge differs from faith as the evidence of reality, and 
determine as well as we can the compass and the 
limits of both. To this we shall proceed in the next 
chapter. 



CHAPTER II. 

ON KNOWLEDGE. 

The objection has been urged against instituting any 
philosophical inquiry into the possibility and grounds of 
human knowledge, that such an inquiry presupposes the 
very conclusion that we wish to arrive at. The faculty 
of knowing can only be comprehended by the knowing 
faculty. The very fact of instituting a research, there- 
fore, admits the existence and validity of the power by 
which all research must be carried on. 

This contradiction, however, to whatever extent it is 
valid, is equally distinctive of scepticism as it is of any 
other metaphysical principle. The sceptic denies that 
there is such a thing as knowledge at all. But in this 
he is logically inconsistent ; for how, on his own prin- 
ciple, does he know that he can know nothing? To 
knoiv that we can know nothing, is a contradiction 
which surely lies at the very threshold of all sceptical 
philosophy. 

The only use there is in arguments and retorts such 
as these, is simply to show us that there are certain tacit 
admissions, which all men who pretend to reason must 
necessarily make ; and some things which cannot be 
denied without palpable self-contradiction. 

Every one must admit, on pain of self-contradiction, 
that he has a number of phenomena constantly passing 
through his consciousness. For all our thoughts are 
phenomena of consciousness, and, to deny, is to think ; 



296 THE HUMAN REASON. 

we cannot deny that toe think, therefore, without contra- 
dicting ourselves in the very act of doing so. The phe- 
nomena which pass through the consciousness, however, 
do not necessarily form what we term knowledge. We 
know, indeed, that they exist ; but that is all. They do 
not, from the fact of their existence, necessarily imply 
that there is anything corresponding to them apart from 
our own consciousness. By knowledge, however, we 
mean some fact of consciousness which we are quite sure 
corresponds with some fact in nature, and which be- 
comes equally certain to others as soon as they can 
be made to go through the same mental process, in 
order to arrive at it, as we have done ourselves. These are 
the two conditions of all knowledge, properly so-called. We 
may have a thousand notions, ideas, propositions, trains 
of thought passing through the mind, and all possessing 
in themselves perfect consistency ; but so long as we are 
not perfectly sure that they are the counterparts of, or 
are correlated with, certain outward facts, which remain 
facts quite irrespective of our conception of them, there 
can be no knowledge in the case. We may, again, pos- 
sess ideas which we have strong reason to think do cor- 
respond with some objective reality ; but, if we are 
unable to impose that conviction upon other minds, and 
if it will not stand the test of the common reason of 
humanity, we cannot regard our certainty as complete, 
or the knowledge it seems to guarantee as valid and sure. 

If knowledge, then, be a fact of consciousness, which 
we are quite sure is correlated with some fact of nature, 
then there must be some ground or principle on which 
this surety rests. Without taking the trouble to ex- 
pound and criticise the various theories of certitude 
which different philosophies have maintained, we shall 
simply take a few typal cases, and see if we can recog- 
nise any one ground of certitude in them all. 



ON KNOWLEDGE. 297 

Let us begin with the simplest case which it is 
possible to adduce. I am now sitting at my desk ; I 
ho'.d a pen in my hand ; a sheet of paper lies before me ; 
I see the window on one side of the room, and the 
fireplace on the other. All these are facts which it is 
certainly no exaggeration to say that I know. The 
mental images excited by these objects are such that I 
am quite sure there is something corresponding to them 
externally. Is there anything, I would ask, of which I 
can be more sure than this ? Could any of those 
philosophers who affirm that there is no certitude con- 
nected with our sensational and perceptive life, but that 
all certitude has to do with the general and the abstract — 
could any of these affirm that it is possible for me to 
doubt the facts above stated? Or could they give me 
any proposition, moral, metaphysical, or mathematical, 
of which I could be more sure than I am of them ? 

Take the outward test of certitude, I have proposed — 
that of the concurrent testimony of other minds. Bring 
any friend or any sane human being into the room, place 
him in the same chair, before the same desk, with the 
same pen in his hand, and see if he is not compelled to 
have precisely the same conviction that I have, whether 
he will or no. There is, manifestly, only one possible 
result to every sane mind from such a test. 

Now, let us consider the ground of our certitude in 
this instance. We need not again go through all the 
steps of the perceptive process, by which we are brought 
to recognise these objects through the aid of the senses. 
This process, indeed, has little or nothing to do with 
the ground of certitude. All we need notice is this, 
that we are compelled, when thus confronted with ex- 
ternal objects, to believe in their objective existence, and 
that the mind has, in this instance, no choice of its own. 
It must suffer the sensation ; it must interpret that sen- 



298 THE HUMAN REASON. 

sation in a particular way; no effort of its own can 
enable it to rise above the double compulsion under 
which it is laid by the presence of the real object ; in a 
word, the co-operation of mind and nature here is such 
that it can only be followed by one result. How, then, 
shall we formulate the ground of certainty which here 
exists ? All we can say is, that it is a fixed necessity of 
our mental nattire that we should know these facts to be 
true. The truth, indeed, in this instance, is not necessary 
truth ; but it is none the less certain ; nor does it in any 
the less degree rest upon a necessity of our mental 
nature. 

Now, let us take an instance of a somewhat more 
general character. Let us take the proposition, " Snow is 
white/' Of the truth of this proposition, I apprehend, 
we have just as little doubt as we have of those above 
stated, but yet there is an element of generality in it 
which is wholly wanting in the other instances. Those 
instances simply represented the fact of the present 
moment. The proposition, " Snow is white," represents 
an abiding and continual fact. The former might never 
be true again in the whole course of our life's experience ; 
the latter we know will always be true as long as the 
laws of nature remain as they are. What, then, is the 
ground of certainty here ? Fundamentally, it is the same 
as in the former case. My organic and mental nature, 
when put side by side with snow, is compelled to produce 
a sensation of whiteness. This is, again, the one funda- 
mental necessity out of which the whole certainty springs. 
Bring other men in contact with snow, and they have the 
sensation of whiteness also. Repeat the experiment any 
number of times, and the same result uniformly follows. 
Multiply your own experience by that of all other human 
beings whom you in any way come in contact with, and 
still the fact is confirmed anew. The individual fact, 



ON KNOWLEDGE. 299 

accordingly, that I am compelled to have a sensation of 
whiteness when I am actually looking at the snow, at 
any given time, becomes now generalized into the wider 
fact that I have always had the same experience under 
similar circumstances ; that all men, as far as I can 
learn, are similarly affected ; and that, consequently, the 
proposition that snow is white is true to the utmost 
limit that my experience can carry me. Hence, within 
the limits of experience, I may be said to know it, and 
my knowledge, as before, rests on a necessity of my 
mental nature ; for, with these multifarious experiences 
before me, I cannot possibly help drawing this conclu- 
sion. To fail to do so, indeed, would do violence to our 
whole mental constitution. Whether I am also com- 
pelled to draw the further conclusion that snow always 
will and must be white is a wider question, which we 
shall not moot at present. But so far as we can be said 
to know this general truth, it must rest, in like manner, 
upon the very same necessity of our sensational and 
intellectual nature. 

Now, let us take some examples of another descrip- 
tion altogether. Certainly, we may be said to know the 
following propositions as undoubtedly true : — That two 
things which are equal to the same are equal to each 
other; That, if equals be added to equals, the wholes 
will be equal ; That it is impossible for the same thing to 
be and not to be ; That two distinct material objects 
cannot occupy the same space, &c. Here, again, as 
before, we are simply met by a necessity in our mental 
constitution. Formed as we are, we cannot come to any 
conclusions at variance with these. It is true we may 
not think about these matters at all, and remain, there- 
fore, wholly unconscious of the truths here involved. 
But, admitting that actual cases are brought before our 
experience in which the points above stated are suggested 



300 THE HUMAN REASON. 

to our minds, and the truths involved in them have to be 
decided upon, there is a positive necessity for us to 
decide only in one way ; for the contrary of these truths 
is unthinkable, and would oppose itself to our whole 
mental constitution if once we attempted to affirm them. 

The case is not very different with truths which are 
not at once self-evident, but which lie at a few removes 
from a self-evident proposition. We know, for example, 
that the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are 
equal ; that the three angles of a triangle are equal to 
two right angles ; and many other facts of a similar 
nature. These are not self-evident, nor are their oppo- 
sites at once seen to be contradictory, but they are 
known through the intervention of some two or more 
intermediate facts, each one of which is self-evident ; so 
that the conclusion cannot be rejected without doing 
violence to the mental necessity involved in the process 
of demonstration. In all these cases alike, therefore, 
there is just one, and only one fundamental ground of 
certainty, namely, a mental necessity to regard those 
facts of consciousness, to which we attach the attribute 
of knowledge, as standing in exact correlation with cer- 
tain facts or relations of nature, which remain the same, 
quite independently of our own knowledge or perception 
of them. 

And if, finally, we take the instance of knowledge, 
which rests wholly upon testimony or evidence, such as 
a well-known historical fact, or the conviction of a 
criminal in a court of law, still the groundwork of the 
certainty remains the same ; for our minds are so 
constituted that a certain concurrence of testimony, 
and a certain strength of evidence, is necessarily followed 
by conviction, both in our own minds and in those of all 
our fellow-creatures whose faculties are in a normal state. 
We may draw, therefore, the general conclusion, that 



ON KNOWLEDGE. 301 

wherever knowledge, in the proper sense of the term, 
exists, it is based fundamentally upon a mental necessity, 
and that all attempts to prove a thing, not at once self- 
evident, to be true, is simply to bring it within the 
limits of those facts which can at once plead this mental 
necessity in their favour. Deeper than this it is im- 
possible for us to go. What we must necessarily believe, 
and what all other men, when placed in the same 
circumstances, are obliged also to admit, rests upon the 
surest and completest kind of certitude of which the 
human mind is capable. 

Now in looking over these instances which we have 
adduced we cannot fail to see that, although the certai7ity 
is about equally strong in every case, yet there is a 
marked difference in the nature of the knowledge we 
possess of the different facts brought forward. Some of 
the facts affirm the existence of a specific material reality 
with which we stand face to face ; others of them affirm 
no specific reality, but merely a relation which remains 
the same, whatever be the reality to which it is applied. 
The fact that the desk is now before me affirms a present 
material reality ; the fact that snow is white affirms a 
reality which if not present now, yet has been present, 
and may be so again. On the contrary, the fact that 
the whole is greater than a part is quite independent of 
any specific reality whatever. It is equally true whether 
the application we make of it refer to space, or time, or 
substance, or force, or number, or anything else within 
the sphere of human ideas. 

Now these two different kinds of affirmation mark 
out two different kinds of mental phenomena, which we 
have indeed already investigated, but not yet put dis- 
tinctly in contrast from our present point of view. 
There is one series of mental facts which brings us 
directly into contact with realities; there is another 



302 THE HUMAN REASON. 

series which only enables us to appreciate relations. 
Our fundamental feelings and sensations involve in 
them the affirmation of something really existing. This 
is the case, for example, in the feeling of self -conscious- 
ness, by which we tacitly affirm our own existence ; it is 
equally the case with regard to our sensational or world- 
consciousness, which in like manner affirms a real 
existence apart from ourselves. A me and a not-me, a 
self and a not-self, are two fundamental assertions 
which are virtually made in the very first and most 
primitive acts of our conscious mental existence, — asser- 
tions which underlie our mental processes long before 
they are realized in any distinct reflective idea, and 
which are as certain, as any universal necessity of our 
nature can make them. 

On the other hand, the moment we get beyond these 
well-nigh passive mental phenomena, and begin to see 
the movements of human thought in relation to the 
realities thus affirmed, we find that there are certain 
fundamental laws, according to which all our thinking 
proceeds. Perception is an early and somewhat in- 
explicit mode of thinking ; ideation indicates a more 
advanced mode of thinking ; the logical processes form a 
more explicit kind of thinking still — all the efforts of 
our reason exhibit thought ever moving onwards, accord- 
ing to its great fundamental laws, to the attainment 
of specific human knowledge. What these laws are we 
have already seen, — they are the laws of attraction and 
repulsion, of assimilation and differentiation, of uniting 
by virtue of resemblances, and separating by virtue of 
distinctions. All thinking, accordingly, consists in 
establishing relations. I affirm A as distinct from E. 
In doing this I establish in my mind the continued 
identity of A, as something which is not and cannot 
become B ; and the non-identity of B with what 



ON KNOWLEDGE. 303 

I have already thought as A. No thinking process 
can go on without our having the power of making 
these fundamental distinctions. Hence, they have been 
termed The law of identity and The law of contradiction, 
and have been laid down as the two great corner-stones 
of all logical processes, — being at the same time, as we 
now see, the fundamental psychological laws of all the 
processes of thinking. 

But further. In the fact of self-consciousness we 
distinguish ourselves — the agent from the result of our 
action. Here is activity on the one side ; and this 
activity results in an act on the other. Hence we come 
to the consciousness, that wherever there is activity there 
must be correlated with it an act, and that wherever 
there is an act it must have been preceded by an 
activity. Put into more ordinary language, this appears, 
as the well-known axiom, that every effect must have a 
cause, and every cause must produce an effect. This 
forms, accordingly, the third great fundamental law — 
The law of sufficient reason; a law which lies at the 
foundation of our rational processes as completely and 
universally as the other two lie, at the foundation of 
those mental operations which are, more fonnally speak- 
ing, logical. Without the law of identity and contra- 
diction there can be no distinction of ideas, no natural 
logic, no reasoning; and without the law of sufficient 
reasoning there can be no connexion between events, no 
knowledge of the laws of nature, no science. Thus all 
the fundamental principles both of logic and science are 
alike simple expressions of what is contained in the one 
great double law of our whole intellectual activity — the 
law of recognition and distinction. 

From these considerations we can now fully compre- 
hend the different lands of knowledge involved in the 
two classes of instances we have before adduced. The 



304 THE HUMAN REASON. 

one kind refers to the material of our knowledge, the 
other simply to the form. I am obliged, by a necessity 
of my whole mental constitution, to affirm my own 
existence, and the existence of other things around me. 
The opposite to these affirmations, however, is neither 
an impossibility or a contradiction. There is no impos- 
sibility or contradiction in the thought, that my desk 
and pen do not exist ; that snow is not white ; nay, that 
I do not exist myself. On the other hand, the opposite 
to that other class of truths, in which we affirm fixed 
relations, is absolutely impossible and unthinkable. It 
is perfectly unthinkable that a whole is no greater than 
a part ; that if equals be added to equals the wholes are 
not equal ; that the same thing may be and not be 
at the same time, &c. As these are direct applica- 
tion of the laivs of thought it is inconceivable that the 
truth should be otherwise ; for as we can only think at 
all in accordance with these laws, it involves a pure 
contradiction when we attempt to think anything which 
stands in blank opposition to them. In the former case 
we call the opposite an absurdity ; in the latter case we 
call it a contradiction. 

Although the truth itself in the one case may be 
contingent, and in the other necessary, yet we must not 
fail to observe that the knowledge of the one as well as 
the other rests upon a necessity of our mental constitu- 
tion, and carries with it conviction to every mind when 
placed in the same circumstances as ourselves. This is 
at once the fundamental character and condition of 
all knowledge of a positive nature, and to which perfect 
certitude can be attached. 



CHAPTER III. 

CLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE FEOM 
DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW. 

We have seen sufficient of the philosophy of human know- 
ledge in the last chapter to understand that knowledge 
itself cannot be regarded as perfectly uniform in its 
nature, origin, or attributes. We may contemplate it in 
fact from many different points of view ; and at every fresh 
point of view we may frame a distinct classification. In 
the present chapter, accordingly, we propose to consider 
the most important of the aspects under which know- 
ledge can be regarded, as they will lead us to the discus- 
sion of several questions, which it behoves us, as far as 
possible, to clear up, as we proceed. 

I. Human knowledge may be regarded in relation to 
its origin. As such, it has been classified by many of 
the schools of philosophy under the two heads of 
a posteriori and a priori knowledge. Locke, who pro- 
fessedly rejected everything of an a priori character, 
still divided our ideas into those from sensation and 
those from reflexion. Psychologists of every school have 
recognised some difference between the two kinds of 
ideas expressed by these respective terms. It remains, 
therefore, for us now to consider what new light can be 
thrown upon this question by the psychological principles 
already laid down in the present work. 

First, then, with regard to a posteriori knowledge, 
there can be no real difference of opinion in regard to 

x 



306 THE HUMAN REASON. 

its existence and its general characteristics. We know- 
that we possess sensations and perceptions ; we know 
that these form the groundwork, at any rate, of the great 
mass of human ideas ; and that these ideas, generalized 
as they are from our sensational experiences, enter as the 
main ingredient into the whole superstructure of human 
knowledge. It is when we come to the question of 
a priori knowledge that the real difficulty commences. 

In order to relieve this difficulty, let us make in the 
outset one important distinction — I mean the distinction 
between an a priori factor ', or condition underlying the 
mental processes, by which knowledge is obtained, and 
a priori knowledge itself. We have already seen in a 
former chapter that an a priori element exists in all our 
mental operations. There is, on the one hand, the indi- 
viduality of every individual, which to himself is purely 
a priori, i. e., born ivith him. On the other hand, we 
have the great laws of our intellectual activity, the laws 
by which we assimilate, on the one side, and eliminate on 
the other. These laws are a priori also, being, in fact, the 
basis, formally speaking, of all human intelligence, the 
norm, by which the mind ever operates. The laws of 
mind, however, are not ideas, nor do they constitute 
knowledge. They produce nothing, but merely guide 
and direct the mind, in its operation, when some actual 
material of knowledge is presented to its attention. 

In order to create knowledge, there must of necessity 
be two factors, the one giving the matter, the other the 
form. It is not essential, however, that the material of 
knowledge should all come from the outer world. Wher- 
ever the intellectual faculties stand face to face with any 
real substantive existence, there may be some actual 
material of knowledge. Such an existence Ave find not 
only in the world of matter, but in the world of mind. 
The soul is a real existence; its laws and attributes 



CLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE. 307 

present themselves to the self-conscious, thinking mind 
as something which it can perceive, observe, and know. 
Consequently, there may exist, as Locke clearly affirmed, 
not only ideas from sensation, but ideas from reflection ; 
i.e., ideas arising from the inward observation, which 
the mind can make of its own nature and operations. 
But this knowledge, be it observed, is equally based 
on experience with that which comes from the ex- 
ternal world. That is to say, it is not knowledge 
which the mind possesses in the form of innate ideas 
ah initio ; neither is it knowledge, which the mind can 
think out for itself simply by the force of its own intel- 
lectual power. It is knowledge which is given in an 
actual mental experience, and which has to be received 
and assimilated exactly in the same way as all other ideas 
are. In brief, we may say,, that there is in every man an 
outer and an inner sense ; that while the outer sense 
brings us into contact with material, the inner sense 
brings us in contact with spiritual or ideal existence ; and 
that knowledge may then be constructed out of either. 

Prom these explanations we may draw two conclu- 
sions. First, that if d priori knowledge means know- 
ledge which we possess prior to, or in any way 
independent of, experience, then there is no such thing 
as a priori knowledge at all. But, secondly, if a priori 
knowledge means merely knowledge which does not 
come from the outer world, but entirely from the mind 
itself, then a priori knowledge in this sense can and does 
exist, although it may still be true that, but for the 
stimuli derived from the world, our mental development 
might never be sufficient to open the internal senses, and 
reveal the mind to its own observation. However this 
may be, it remains true that when the mind is thus 
developed, it acquires " ideas of reflexion," in which no 
element from the outer world necessarily mingles, as the 

x 2 



308 THE HUMAN REASON. 

material of which they are constituted. Thus it may be 
perfectly true that, but for the stimuli applied through 
the senses, we should never be able to perceive, think, 
doubt, believe, know, will, reason, love, hate, &c. < yet, 
when the mind is once so far aroused and developed as 
to perform these operations, we are led by inward 
reflexion to gain the ideas of perception, of thought, 
of doubt, of belief, of knowledge, of volition, of reason, 
of love, of hatred, and the like, which ideas the external 
world has nothing to do with, and with which it 
possesses no analogy whatever. 

II. Secondly, we may regard knowledge in relation to 
the directness of the channel through which it comes. 
Viewed in this light, it is either mediate or immediate ; 
*. e., its validity is either manifest at once without any 
further proof, or it may require intermediate proposi- 
tions in order to make it perfectly evident. 

There are some things, as we before showed, which it 
is impossible for us not to know. There is a necessity in 
our intellectual nature, when brought in contact with the 
realities around us, which forces us to see and believe 
many truths. These are truths of which the opposite is 
either impossible or absurd ; impossible, if they stand in 
contradiction to our formal knowledge ; absurd, if they 
stand in contradiction to that which the outer or inner 
senses directly reveal as actually existing. This direct 
and immediate knowledge is the most certain of all ; it 
requires but one single application of that test of 
necessity, upon which, as a real basis, all our certitude 
finally rests. 

Starting, however, from self-evident propositions, we 
may proceed step by step to others which are not self- 
evident. In order to do this successfully, the law of self- 
evidence or necessity must be applied at every successive 
step, as in the case of mathematical or syllogistic reasoning; 



CLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE. 309 

and in proportion to the completeness with which this 
can be accomplished will be the certainty of the final 
result. In mathematics, where the terms of the question 
are always few and simple, and where the test of neces- 
sity, and the impossibility of the contrary, is very easily 
applied, the utmost certainty may accompany us through 
a long chain of reasoning. In real science, where the 
possibility of error in the application of the test is greater, 
the certainty of the conclusion becomes less and less, in 
proportion to the length of the reasoning. And, in ques- 
tions where cumulative evidence only is possible, the 
certainty will be in direct ratio to the number and 
variety of the converging rays of evidence which tend to 
render the opposite belief morally impossible. Where 
these converging lines of evidence are few and difficult 
of access, as in the case of historical events long past, 
and resting on but few direct witnesses, the uncertainty 
becomes too great for the facts to be classified under the 
category of knowledge at all, and we then include them 
within the province of belief. 

III. Knowledge may be classified still farther in rela- 
tion to the actual realities, in face of which it stands, and 
by which it is conditioned. Every separate reality which 
comes in contact with the mental faculties produces some 
specific result in relation to our knowledge. Any classi- 
fication, therefore, we can make of the realms of reality, 
based upon the mode in which they affect and influence 
the consciousness, will give us at the same time a classi- 
fication of human knowledge itself, as regarded from this 
point of view. 

What are, then, the regions of actual fact within 
which all our actual knowledge must move ? First and 
foremost, there are the phenomena of the external world, 
known to us through the medium of the senses, and 
forming the basis of the whole superstructure of science, 



310 THE HUMAN REASON. 

properly so called. Then, next, there is the region 
of mental phenomena. So far as these phenomena 
belong to our own minds, we have a direct and imme- 
diate certainty that they exist, and exist in a certain 
form. It is as impossible and absurd for us to deny 
that we possess feelings, sensations, ideas, trains of 
thought, &c, as it is to deny that the pen exists with 
which we are writing, or the paper on which we write. 
With regard to mental phenomena as they exist in 
others, we have not, of course, the same direct certainty 
as we have with regard to our own. The certainty, 
however, that such phenomena exist in others is so 
great, that we cannot possibly resist it, although we can- 
not bring their exact nature and characteristics to the 
test of human experience as clearly as we can in the case 
of knowledge resting on external facts. Hence the cer- 
tainty we possess respecting the precise nature of mental 
phenomena not belonging to our own minds must be put 
down as secondary to that which we possess of external 
objects. 

Now, the question comes, whether these two spheres 
of knowledge include the whole world of reality to 
which we have definite and positive access. Is not the 
Absolute, the Infinite, the Divinity, another object of 
human knowledge, which does not fall within either 
of the two preceding categories ? That we are morally 
bound to accept the fact of a Divine Being, we hold to 
be indubitable, and shall by-and-by give our reasons for 
doing so ; but it is no less true, that we cannot include 
this conviction within the definition of knowledge, pro- 
perly so called. Knowledge is that which rests on 
objective as well as subjective grounds. Wherever 
it exists, we can bring others face to face with the 
reality, and compel their assent to it. The conviction of 
a Supreme Being rests on subjective grounds, both 



CLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE. 311 

intellectual and moral, and on subjective grounds only ; 
and this is the characteristic, as we shall see, not of 
knoioledge, but of faith. We cannot bring a fellow- 
creature face to face with the Divine reality, and oblige 
a mental acquiescence in it, as we can do with a palpable 
fact of nature ; in other words, God is not any object of 
human knowledge, but is the highest object of human 
belief. 

There is one other sphere, however, beside the ma- 
terial and the mental world which may be properly 
included within the region of knowledge. The actions of 
men, viewed in connexion with our moral ideas and 
emotions, form a sphere of realities with which we come 
into immediate contact, and which have the power of 
compelling our moral judgments either one way or the 
other. In like manner, certain external forms, viewed in 
connexion with our cesthetic ideas and emotions, present 
a sphere of reality which can compel our sesthetic judg- 
ment to pronounce them beautiful or the reverse. When 
we speak of reality in connexion with the good and the 
beautiful, we do not, it is true, speak of it in the same 
sense as we do of material objects. It is, after all, 
an ideal reality — a reality which is created by our own 
minds. Still, it is so far created according to certain 
fixed laws of our being, that no one can withdraw him- 
self from the precincts of the beautiful and the good. 
Moreover, both the tests of real knowledge are applicable 
in these two cases — namely, 1st, that to deny the posi- 
tive existence of the good or the beautiful would be 
chargeable with absurdity ; and, 2ndly, that we can so 
far bring up our fellow- creatures face to face with 
these ideal realities, that they cannot, under pain of 
the same charge of absurdity, fail to recognise the truth 
of what we affirm, either in regard to a palpably good 
action or a palpably beautiful object. On these grounds, 



312 THE HUMAN REASON. 

therefore, we should argue for the admission both of 
aesthetics and morals, up to a certain point, within 
the sphere of positive knowledge, and, consequently, of 
positive science. 

IV. There is still another point of view from which 
knowledge can be contemplated, and that is, the form, 
psychologically speaking, in which it presents itself to 
our minds. Viewed in relation to the form, our know- 
ledge may be either, 1st, intuitive, or, 2ndly, logical. 
This distinction is based upon the difference between the 
particular and the general, the individual and the abstract. 

Individual existences we know only by a direct per- 
ception or intuition. What this perception includes 
and involves, we have already fully explained. The 
mental operations underlying it, as we saw, are, in fact, 
fundamentally the same as those which are developed 
in all other stages of our intellectual life, with the one 
difference only, that they are less explicit. Hence, our 
perceptive knowledge, while enabling us to recognise, 
observe, and classify individual objects as they are pre- 
sented to our view, does not lead us to generalize them 
any further, or so to separate their qualities, as to 
create abstract ideas. On the other hand, while it 
shows the lowest degree of intellectual form, it possesses 
the highest degree of material reality. Coming, as they 
do, fresh from the object, our intuitions are more vivid, 
more real, more replete with freshness and feeling, and 
less influenced by our own mental habits than our more 
abstract ideas can possibly be. Hence, while intuitive 
knowledge is less explicit and less scientific than any 
other, it is just so much the more direct, vivid, and inex- 
haustible in its materials. 

It is not only the objects of nature around us, how- 
ever, - which form the material of intuition ; we have, 
also, a direct intuition of the beautiful and the good. 



CLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE. 313 

Artistic genius and moral excellence rest mainly upon 
the vividness of these intuitions ; for no amount of 
aesthetic doctrine or of moral science can supply the 
want of vivid intuitions in respect to these ideal spheres 
of reality. Science and doctrine may give us the rules 
of criticism, and teach us to apply them ; but they 
cannot give that creative and impulsive power which 
belongs peculiarly to the intuitive region of our mental 
nature. 

Whilst giving its due place, however, and assign- 
ing its due advantage to intuitive knowledge, we 
must not forget the great superiority of logical 
knowledge in the extent of its application, and in 
its power to create system and science. It is by this 
knowledge that we are introduced into the region of laiv, 
that we are enabled to see the remote connexions of 
things and events, that we can couple together causes 
and effects, and, finally reap all the rich harvest of prac- 
tical advantages, which a scientific knowledge of nature 
and her laws have brought in its train. 

Comparing these two kinds of knowledge together, in 
reference both to their logical and chronological priority, 
the whole teaching of psychology tends to show us that 
the intuitive form is both the antecedent and the basis 
of the logical. Chronologically ', perceptive knowledge 
comes first, inasmuch as the perceptive faculties are 
developed prior to all the other intellectual powers. We 
appreciate truth in its direct and concrete form, through 
the immediate action of the senses, long before we can 
at all apprehend it in the general and the abstract. But 
our perceptive knowledge is not only prior to all other in 
point of time, it is also the material ground and basis of 
every possible generalization or abstraction. This is a 
truth by no means universally conceded. It has been 
maintained over and over again that knowledge, in the 



314 THE HUMAN REASON. 

proper sense of the word, can only exist within the region 
of generalization, while the particular is only a temporary 
phenomenon, which cannot be called knowledge at all. 
This doctrine rests upon a confusion between truth as 
related to certitude, and truth as related to what is fixed 
and eternal. Wherever a necessary belief exists, which 
can force our own assent, and enable us to challenge the 
assent of all other minds, when brought into contact 
with the same evidence, there is truth, and there is 
knowledge ; not absolute truth and absolute knowledge, 
indeed, but that which must be ever held as truth and 
knowledge relatively to man in his present position and 
circumstances in the world. And this holds good of 
particular facts as well as of general ones. Nay, but for 
the certitude of particular facts, there could be no certi- 
tude in any of our generalizations. For all knowledge 
and all science starts from particulars, grounds itself 
upon their validity, and can only be maintained as true" 
so far as the facts out of which it is generalized are 
capable of verification. This is the teaching which the 
inductive philosophy has established by a thousand 
examples. 

We might have viewed knowledge still further, ac- 
cording to the nature and amount of its certitude, but 
certitude does not admit of any definite classification; 
and, therefore, we shall consider this point as a part of 
the general question of the relativity and limitation of 
human knowledge generally. 



CHAPTER IV. 
LIMITS OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 

All thinking, from its most primitive to its most 
developed form, takes place in accordance with the great 
fundamental laws of recognition and distinction. To 
think a thing is to define it, to mark it off, to say what 
it agrees with and what it is distinguished from ; what it 
is like, and what it is unlike. Where no comparison and 
no distinction are possible, there can be no thought. 
This is virtually the doctrine which has now become so 
well-known and so generally accepted under the designa- 
tion of the relativity of human knowledge. It is not 
necessary for us now to go into the detailed proof of 
this doctrine, as it follows naturally from the whole of 
our previous psychological analysis, and has been amply 
illustrated by many other writers.* 

Absolute knowledge, according to this view, is im- 
possible, since we can only know anything in proportion 
as it becomes a part of our own consciousness, and that 
consciousness is limited at once by the very nature of the 
object, which can only be known phenomenally, and by 
the finite powers of the subject. Let us see, then, 
in what precise respects our knowledge is necessarily 
limited, and what bounds we can set to its possible 
development. 

* See particularly SirW. Hamilton's "Discussions," Appendix 1 ; 
also, Mansel " On the Limits of Religious Thought j " and Herbert 
Spencer's " System of Philosophy," Part 1. 



316 THE HUMAN REASON. 

First, our knowledge is limited as to its quality. Let 
us take the simplest case as an example, that of the 
external world ; and let us inquire on what it is that our 
knowledge of it depends. Here are external objects 
around us, possessing certain powers and attributes. 
These objects affect our bodily organization — the nervous 
system is stimulated in some unknown manner by them — 
and in this way the knowledge of their various attributes 
is conveyed to the mind. This knowledge, we see at 
once, must be conditioned by the precise relation which 
the human soul and the world of nature bear to each 
other. The effect which any object produces, varies 
entirely according to the particular sense affected by it. 
That which, in connexion with one sense, produces 
vision, when brought into contact with another, produces 
sound, and, with a third, feeling. What we actually 
perceive, therefore, in every case, is not the thing itself, 
nor its attributes absolutely considered, but simply the 
conscious phenomena produced by the conjoint operation 
of the subject and the object — the soul and the world. 
It is impossible ever to affirm that the phenomena 
actually 'perceived are the exact copy of the thing, abso- 
lutely considered ; or that, had we other senses, the 
result would not be different. We are wholly shut up to 
one conclusion, viz., that, according to the present 
structure of the human faculties, particular changes in 
nature will produce particular changes in the con- 
sciousness. 

Neither is our knowledge of mind more decidedly 
raised above this relative point of view than is that of 
nature. For of the essence of mind we have no con- 
sciousness at all; our knowledge of it is limited to its 
various affections. But these affections are produced by 
circumstances, chiefly those belonging to the external 
world. So that, here again, we can only know, respecting 



LIMITS OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 317 

the mind itself, that which results from the mutual action 
and reaction of its various faculties and susceptibilities, 
on the one hand, and the environment in which it is 
placed on the other. Qualitatively, then, our knowledge 
is purely relative, being limited by the peculiar mode in 
which the world affects the consciousness. 

But, secondly, our knowledge is also limited in regard 
to quantity. If knowledge be possible only where we 
can define, and draw distinctions, then, when we get 
beyond the region of distinctions, it must wholly cease. 
This is the case with matter, essentially considered. 
What we mean by matter is that which remains of 
natural objects when all their various attributes are 
abstracted. But that which has no attributes is un- 
distinguishable ; it cannot be differentiated or defined ; 
and, therefore, it cannot be brought within the con- 
ditions of thought at all. We may speculate as to the 
nature of material existence ; we may set up an atomic, 
a dynamical, or a spiritualistic theory on the subject; 
but we can have no positive knowledge of it, inasmuch as 
it lies beyond the region of all distinctions. Of the 
essence of the soul we know no more than we do of 
matter. Where the subject and the object absolutely 
coincide, all knowledge ceases. The duality of conscious- 
ness is a necessary condition of its existence ; in other 
words, there must always be a subject which knows, and 
an object which is known. We may, indeed, separate 
the affections of the soul from the soul itself, and make 
them a distinct object of knowledge ; but where would 
be the distinction of subject and object if the soul were 
required to know itself, not phenomenally, but essentially ? 
It is evident that the two factors would fall together : 
and thus, distinction being blotted out, all knowledge 
would necessarily cease. The same argument holds good 
in relation to the absolute and infinite Being. That 



318 THE HUMAN REASON. 

which is absolute and infinite can have no relation in 
thought to what is limited and finite. The two terms 
are wholly incomparable. To distinguish it from any- 
thing else would be to destroy the very idea of absolute- 
ness and infinity. Hence the Absolute does not come 
within the conditions of human knowledge any more 
than the essence of the soul and the world. To sum up 
these various conclusions briefly, we may express the 
general truth they involve thus : — That human knowledge 
can only be occupied with the phenomenal, and ceases 
altogether in presence of the simply real or essential. 

The case is the same in regard to . all ultimate scien- 
tific ideas. Time, space, power, cause, motion, are all 
incomprehensible realities ; for, as thought can only 
reach as far ^as distinctions can be drawn, the power 
of comprehending these realities ceases as soon as we 
arrive at that ultimate limit, where all differences disap- 
pear, and the ideas stand alone as representative of 
existences which can only be compared with themselves. 
All the above ideas we must regard as being truly repre- 
sentative of realities ; yet they are all realities which 
cannot be known — nay, which so far resist analysis, that 
they involve us in palpable contradictions or antinomies 
the moment we begin to treat them as ordinary logical 
concepts. 

And yet, notwithstanding this, we cannot resist the 
impulse under which we are laid of regarding all such 
ideas as matter, mind, time, space, power, and motion, 
as marking real objective existences. The fact that we 
cannot comprehend, or explain, or analyze them, or 
know anything whatever of their real nature, does not 
involve the result, that they are to be regarded as mere 
negative terms. Place a material object before us, and, 
though we only know certain qualities which are purely 
relative to our powers of perception, we cannot resist 



LIMITS OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 319 

the belief that there is a reality involved over and above 
the qualities which we perceive and know. Strike one 
billiard-ball against another, and, though we only see 
the external changes produced, yet we cannot resist the 
belief that power is exerted, and that there is a cause for 
the phenomenon which we observe. Hence, that there 
is such a thing as matter, power, cause, &c, is a fact 
which, if it does not come within the region of positive 
knowledge, yet rests upon a belief which we, in common 
with all men, practically yield to as valid and certain. 
But what matter, or power, or cause are, how they exist, 
or in what way they operate, all these are points which 
lie beyond the bounds of human knowledge altogether, 
inasmuch as they refer to existences which have no com- 
mon points of comparison with anything else. 

If, then, it be clearly established, 1st, that absolute 
knowledge is impossible ; 2ndly, that, in regard to 
quality, all human knowledge is conditioned by our 
limited powers of sense and reason \ and, 3rdly, that, in 
regard to quantity, it can never transcend the region of 
the phenomenal and the relative ; then several corollaries 
may be drawn, which it is of some importance for us to 
understand. 

1. It will follow that our knowledge must be divided 
into many different branches, each resting on its own 
separate series of facts, and each claiming its own par- 
ticular measure of certitude. For, as our knowledge is 
not absolutely one, but manifold, it must necessarily 
divide itself into various departments, according to the 
nature of the facts on which it rests. Were all know- 
ledge deducible from one fundamental and self-evident 
principle, it would be perfect, which we have shown it 
can never be as to quantity or quality. 

We can conclude, 

2. That, as science progresses, these various branches 



320 THE HUMAN REASON. 

will have a tendency to merge into wider generalizations, 
but that they will never reach the point where all know- 
ledge can be gathered up and grasped from one single 
principle ; for, if this were the case, our knowledge, so 
far as it goes, would be ah solute, which we have already 
seen to be impossible. 

3. It follows from the necessary relativity and limita- 
tion of human knowledge, that there will be an infinite 
gradation in the amount of certitude which we can 
attach to the various portions and various branches into 
which it is divided; for, as our knowledge is quali- 
tatively limited, it can never be raised wholly above the 
possibility of error. Certitude, as we showed, is always 
relative, not absolute — that is, relative to the character 
and extent of our knowing faculties ; and to a relative or 
limited certitude there must always be attached various 
degrees of completeness or intensity. These degrees 
cannot be classified into any exact number of steps, but 
will range along a scale from the point where the 
highest conditions of certitude are all fulfilled, down 
to the point where knowledge passes over into mere 
opinion and doubt. 

Of the two classes into which all knowledge may be 
divided, viz., direct and indirect, the former possesses 
naturally a higher degree of certainty than the latter. 
It is not all direct knowledge, however, which possesses 
the highest degree of certitude. Some of our percep- 
tions are much more clear and distinct than others. We 
cannot have the same definite sense-appreciation of a 
vapour that we can of a solid, nor of an irregular object 
like a mountain or a stream which we can of a regular 
object such as a cube or sphere. The mental operations, 
therefore, which are based upon the former will not 
have the same definiteness and certainty as those which 
are based upon the latter. The degree of certitude we 



LIMITS OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 321 

possess in respect to the direct knowledge of an object 
will be measured by the impossibility there is of think- 
ing of it otherwise than it presents itself at once to our 
view ; and the highest degree will only exist, 1st, where 
the object itself is perfectly distinct and definite ; 2ndly, 
when it appears to all other beholders exactly in the same 
way as it does to ourselves ; and, Srdly, where our percep- 
tion can pass over into a definite concept, and maintain an 
objective as well as a subjective validity as an element of 
human knowledge. These conditions are especially ful- 
filled in the case of distinct geometrical forms, or any- 
thing whatever which possesses definite, quantitative 
proportions ; and it is here accordingly that the 
highest degree of direct certitude can be said to 
exist. 

With regard to indirect knowledge, the highest condi- 
tions of certitude are only fulfilled, 1st, where the imme- 
diate intuitions from which it is originally derived are per- 
fectly well defined ; 2ndly, where the process of proof is so 
clear and convincing, that no one who goes step by step 
through it can withhold his assent ; and, 3rdly, where 
the result does not contradict other facts and expe- 
riences which we know to be true.* 

We see from this why it is that so high a degree of 
certitude is always attributed to mathematical processes. 
The perfect distinctness of the primary intuitions, and 
the rigid accuracy of the quantitative reasoning here em- 
ployed, both give us an unexceptionable guarantee for 
the certainty of the results. For the same reason it 
is that physical science always strives above all things to 
reduce the matter of which it treats to measurable pro- 
portions. So soon as this is the case, half the indistinct- 
ness both in the intuitions and processes of reasoning 
disappears, and the certitude attained comes nearer and 
* See Ulrici "Glauben und Wissen," chap. 5. 

y 



322 THE HUMAN REASON. 

nearer to that which we possess in the case of a mathe- 
matical proof. 

To follow the gradations of certitude downwards 
towards the boundaries of the uncertain would be of no 
particular utility, as they depend upon an infinite variety 
of circumstances, and . may possess an infinite variety 
of degrees. In every case, however, where positive 
knowledge can be said to exist there must be such 
a ground of conviction, that it is appreciable, not merely 
by ourselves, but also by others to whom the matter is 
clearly presented. 

It may so happen that we have strong grounds for 
holding a thing to be true ourselves, but that these 
grounds are of such a nature that we cannot communi- 
cate them to other minds. We may have, in other 
words, a strong subjective certitude of a fact or reality, 
but possess no objective grounds on which we can main- 
tain it as a truth which challenges the assent of all other 
intellects. In this case knowledge passes over to faith. 
"For faith is simply a subjective certitude, and, however 
strong it may be to our own minds, cannot present 
grounds which are naturally calculated to compel the 
assent of others. To elucidate this last point, however, 
more fully, we shall require to devote a separate chapter 
to its discussion. 



CHAPTER V. 

NATURAL BELIEF, AND PERSONAL CONVICTION. 



We are now discussing the various attitudes which the 
human reason can take as regards the appreciation of 
real objective truth. We have already considered the 
most important of these attitudes, — I mean the process of 
knowing, the result of which process is knowledge. Before 
proceeding any further, it is important that we should 
keep the precise and specific idea which is now attached 
to the term knowledge clearly before our view. Let us 
recapitulate the principal points. 

By knowledge we mean — the apprehension of a truth 
which rests upon a necessity of our intellectual nature — 
the grounds of which are wholly objective — the validity 
of which we can make obvious and certain to other 
minds — and the denial of which would involve in it 
either an impossibility or an absurdity. The certainty 
we attach to our knowledge, indeed, is not always the 
same; i.e., it is not always equally direct, nor brought 
home to us by the same amount of evidence ; but to 
whatever extent the evidence reaches, it is objective in 
its character, and can be laid clearly, with all its natural 
force, before every other mind, that will take the 
trouble to follow up the process of proof. 

The main thing we have here to notice is, — that 
knowledge in the strict and specific sense of the word 
does not depend, in any degree, upon our will or 
personality. There is a thread of necessity running 

y 2 



324 THE HUMAN REASON. 

through the whole. The truth involved is forced upon 
us even in opposition to our hopes, desires, or mental 
sympathies ; and can be equally forced upon other 
minds, owing to the objective nature of the evidence. 
It is in this particular point, as we shall soon see, in 
which knowledge differs from all the other modes in 
which truth can be apprehended by the human reason. 

Taking the idea of knowledge in this restricted sense, 
we soon become conscious how very limited is the 
amount of truth which we can be said, strictly speaking, 
to knoio. Putting aside the ordinary and passing facts 
which the senses bring home to us, i.e., the particular 
knowledge of daily life, the truths of a general character 
which have been established on the evidence implied by 
positive knowledge do not reach very far. They are limited 
to a few of the results which the most perfect of the 
sciences have elicited; and even in the case of these 
they do not go down to the ultimate ideas on which 
all such sciences rest. Though comparatively few, how- 
ever, the general facts which we may be said to know 
(such as the earth's revolution and similar astronomical 
truths, the fundamental principles of statics and 
mechanics, the laws of gravitation, of hydrostatic pres- 
sure, of chemical affinities, and, still more, the facts and 
formulae of mathematical science) are of the most trans- 
cendent importance to the practical welfare of mankind. 
They form a body of fixed truth which cannot be 
shaken ; which stands firm amidst every speculation of 
the human intellect ; and which, in the long run, breaks 
down every dogma, philosophical, ethical, or religious, 
which stands in the slightest degree opposed to it. 

We may now proceed to the next principal form, 
which the reason assumes in regard to objective truth, 
and which we term natural belief. The term belief has 
been greatly abused by philosophical writers. Instead 



NATURAL BELIEF, AND PERSONAL CONVICTION. 325 

of having any strict and special idea attached to it, it has 
been employed for a great many different states of mind, 
and those widely enough separated from each other. It 
has often been employed, for example, to express direct 
and immediate knowledge — probably because we can 
render no reason for such knowledge beyond that of an 
intellectual necessity. Belief in contradistinction to 
knowledge always ought to indicate some case in 
which the objective evidence is incomplete, and of which 
the opposite does not imply either impossibility or 
absurdity. We cannot, accordingly, in propriety of 
language, say, " I believe I have a pen in my hand, and a 
sheet of paper before me ; " or, " I believe that two and 
two make four ; " or, "I believe in my own existence, or 
the law of gravitation." These are things which we know ; 
the evidence of them is direct and indubitable ; and no 
one who has the opportunity can say that he does not 
know them on pain of being considered an imbecile. 

In the case even of our natural beliefs, this fulness of 
objective evidence does not exist ; on the contrary, the 
conclusion we come to can be resisted, until it is 
at length determined by a voluntary mental decision, or, 
at any rate, a decision in which the personality of the 
believer has something to do in deciding between con- 
flicting claims. We have used the adjective natural in 
connexion with the word belief, to indicate that state of 
rational intelligence which comes next of all to know- 
ledge, which has the largest amount of objective 
evidence, and the smallest amount of personal determi- 
nation compatible with belief at all ; which forms, in a 
word, the transition point between positive knowledge 
and personal conviction. 

A very large portion of accepted truth rests upon this 
basis, more than is perhaps generally imagined. All 
ultimate scientific ideas, for example, come under the 



326 THE HUMAN REASON. 

denomination of natural beliefs ; as lying beyond the 
region of logical analysis, and as having no indisputable 
objective grounds. We cannot be said to know any- 
thing of time, or space, or matter, or force ; we cannot 
point to any objective necessity which compels us to 
admit their real existence. So far from that, time and 
space have often been regarded as mere subjective forms, 
while matter is denied by the idealist, and force or causa- 
tion by the sensationalist. Bring any of these ideas into 
the arena of logical speculation, and we soon find that they 
do not indicate knowledge at all. And yet it is natural 
that we should believe in them as real existences ; 
indeed the whole tendency of our reason leads us to do 
so; and, although we may argue them down with a 
show of plausibility, yet the mind turns to them again 
and again as being practical realities, which it can 
hardly fail to admit. 

But our natural beliefs are not confined to these ulti- 
mate scientific ideas ; there are a great many convictions in 
which our knowledge is very imperfect, and which we are 
naturally, therefore, induced to complete, by a belief 
which extends further than strict knowledge will carry 
us. This is, in fact, psychologically considered, the 
exact difference between a law of nature and a theory. 
A law of nature is something which we can knoio ; for 
until we know it, it cannot be pronounced to be a law at 
all. It is true we do not know anything of the unseen 
force by which it operates ; but, so far as the term law 
goes, a real, positive, unquestionable knowledge does 
exist, as in the case of those great scientific facts before 
mentioned. A theory, however, means an attempt 
which we make to complete our knowledge by supplying 
the links that are wanting. The evidence for it may be 
indefinitely strong; but, so long as there is some portion 
of the matter, the objective grounds of which we are 



NATURAL BELIEF, AND PERSONAL CONVICTION. 327 

unable to point out, there must be something which 
rests upon subjective evidence only, and which, con- 
sequently, is determined by a free mental act of our own. 

It is not necessary to illustrate this psychological 
position any further. The illustrations now offered will 
be sufficient to show what such belief is, as contra- 
distinguished from knowledge, and to prove that we 
accept a large amount of truth on the basis of it, more 
particularly when the objective grounds are strong, and 
the amount of mere subjective determination compa- 
ratively small. 

If, now, the objective grounds become stronger and 
stronger, it is possible that what was once a natural belief 
may cross the boundary, and take its place amongst facts 
which we may be said to know. Some of the now esta- 
blished laws of nature were once mere theories \ and it 
is possible that, with regard to some of the theories now 
existing, the missing links may be at some time disco- 
vered, so that they may cease to be theories any longer. 

On the contrary, in proportion as the objective grounds 
become weaker, belief, in the sense now explained, tends 
to sink into mere opinion; a mental attitude in which 
we are unable to decide between conflicting grounds, 
although we tend to the one side more than to the other. 
When there is a perfect balance of evidence, and no 
subjective tendency to help us to a decision, the mental 
state is that which we designate doubt. 

It may be, however, that, while the objective grounds 
remain wholly uncertain, the subjective tendency to 
decide in one particular way becomes stronger and 
stronger. In this case we are led to a personal conviction 
of the truth involved, which, notwithstanding the defect 
of external grounds, will sometimes rise to a degree of 
certitude only inferior to positive knowledge itself. 

The part which personal conviction plays in human 



328 THE HUMAN REASON. 

life is so prodigious, that it demands at our hands 
careful consideration and analysis. The basis out of 
which all personal convictions spring is human individu- 
ality. Were each human mind simply an instrument 
for working intellectual problems, and constrained to 
act entirely according to certain fixed laws of intelligence, 
then there would necessarily be perfect uniformity of 
intellectual results, wherever the same data were pre- 
sented. But this is far from being the case. Every 
human mind presents an individuality for itself, having 
its own instincts, tendencies, propensities, and bias. To 
this is added the force of habit, created by particular 
circumstances, associations, and modes of life. These 
influences, taken together, form what is called character, 
and out of the individual character of each person spring 
the particular convictions of which he is the subject. By 
a personal conviction, accordingly, Ave mean that state of 
mind in which the predominant character of the individual 
is engaged in favour of any idea or system of ideas— one 
which so coheres, and becomes so fused, if we may so 
say, with that character, that the confidence felt in the 
truth of it appears to be guaranteed by the whole bent 
and tendency of the personality of the subject. 

The strength of such personal convictions is not much 
altered by the objective evidence being stronger or 
weaker. Independent of any personal bias, the evidence 
of a fact may be so abundant that, dispassionately 
viewed, it might be considered to rest on a natural 
belief; or the evidence, again, may be so slender that, 
without some strong inward impulse, nothing but doubt 
could possibly result ; and yet the personal conviction t 
may be as great in the one case as in the other. In cases 
of strong personal conviction, in fact, outward evidences 
go for very little, the subjective impulse being always the 
main determining principle. 



NATURAL BELIEF, AND PERSONAL CONVICTION. 329 

The cases are innumerable in which this peculiar 
psychological phenomenon is exhibited ; those cases 
relating, for the most part, to questions where exact 
science cannot be applied, but which touch largely upon 
the great body of human interests. Thus, in moral, in 
political, in social, and in religious questions, we gene- 
rally find that every one's peculiar convictions are formed 
mainly by the whole bent and tendency of his character. 
Neither is it a matter to be deplored that such should be 
the case. In these departments, the positive objective 
evidences which we can bring forward for any particular 
position, are naturally slender; on the contrary, the 
impulses to this side or the other are equally strong ; so 
that those who trust their impulses, and regard them 
as tending to the right, naturally cling to the strength of 
the subjective evidence rather than to the weakness of 
the objective. If it be rejoined that the impulses, even 
of good men, are often conflicting one with another, all 
we can say is that, as knowledge is here impossible, the 
tendencies of human belief may be rather benefited than 
otherwise by the variety of opinions ; that even extremes 
on the one side are usually counteracted by those on the 
other ; and that human progress can only take place, in 
cases where positive science is not applicable, by the action 
and reaction of conflicting opinions. In this fact we find 
a rational basis for the principle of toleration. Intole- 
rance is grounded in ignorance of the fundamental 
difference which obtains between positive knowledge and 
personal conviction, and in the consequent want of 
ability to separate the one sphere from the other. 

Now that we have gained a precise idea of the three 
chief attitudes of the human reason, in relation to 
objective truth — I mean knowledge, natural belief, and 
personal conviction — we possess the data for furnishing 



330 THE HUMAN REASON. 

some psychological exposition of that most potent element 
in human life and character, — I mean religious faith. 

That the entire objective material of religions faith 
lies out of the region of knowledge, in the strict sense of 
the term, is obvious. The very term "faith," indeed, 
at once implies this. The chief object of religious faith 
is a Supreme Being — the great First Cause and Creator of 
all things. The Infinite, however, as we haye shown, 
cannot be grasped by the finite as an element of know- 
ledge, any more than the objects indicated by all other 
ultimate intellectual ideas. Thus, we do not know the 
real objective existence of space, or matter, or force; 
and, for the same reason, and owing to the same limita- 
tion of our faculties, we do not possess any positive 
knowledge of an infinite cause. In other words, we 
cannot rest our conviction of any of these things, on 
purely objective grounds, without some admixture of 
free mental determination. 

Added to this, we cannot take up any of these ultimate 
intellectual ideas, and reason upon them logically, without 
being involved in antinomies and contradictions — which 
is the surest proof that the material itself is not one 
which can at all adapt itself to human knowledge and 
the great laws of positive thought. 

We are obliged, accordingly, to sink down to the 
next stage of certitude, that which is afforded by natural 
belief. And here, however evident it is, even at first 
sight, that all religious faith cannot possibly come under 
the category of a natural belief, yet we may perhaps 
find that there is something common to all the different 
forms of religious conviction which does rest upon it — 
something, that is, which presses itself upon our accept- 
ance with the same force and reality as does the existence 
of matter, power, and the like. That which is common 



NATURAL BELIEF, AND PERSONAL CONVICTION. 331 

to every possible form of religion, nay, to every possible 
mode in which we think about the problem of the 
universe, is the existence of a First Cause. Logically, 
this idea may be beset with contradictions (as Kant, 
indeed, has shown that it is), but yet it is one of those 
natural and irrepressible objects of belief to which the 
human mind turns, as being necessary to complete our 
limited knowledge of the world around us. 

" There is no such thing," says Professor Ulrici, " as 
Atheism, except for thoughtlessness and frivolity. For 
we cannot choose but ask after the ground of that which 
is, according to the principle of causality ; and we cannot 
cease from this inquiry until we think that we have dis- 
covered the universal nexus of causation, the groundwork 
of all existence. The modern Materialist, who holds the 
ultimate atoms, with their so-called powers, to be eternal 
and imperishable, and ascribes the formation of every 
thing, as also of the universal whole, to movements caused 
by attraction and repulsion, although he may boast of 
his Atheism, yet really believes in a Divine power — for 
that happy chance or that restless motion to which he 
ascribes all things is his God ; the Positivist, to whom 
nature is all in all — a united whole possessing in itself the 
cause of its own order and harmony, whether in the form 
of an original instinct, or a plastic power, or an uncon- 
scious soul ever developing itself as vital force or as 
blindly operating reason ; the Negro, Caffre, Hottentot, 
Chinese, Indian, Egyptian, Greek, who separate the 
universe into different portions, and attribute the causal 
power in each to a multiplicity of agents ; the Fatalist, 
who makes an unknown force govern the whole life and 
destiny of men by a blind and arbitrary caprice ; the 
Philosopher, who hypostatizes the idea of the Absolute, 
whether under the conception of being, or universal 
soul, or objective reason, and makes it the ground of all 



332 THE HUMAN REASON. 

things : nay, even the Sceptic, who doubts, and asks 
which of all the different views is the right, and must 
ever, in doing so, acknowledge that a right one exists ; 
— all these have A GOD in whom they believe, however 
differently they may represent Him, or however little 
they may be conscious of their own faith, and the ground 
on which it rests." 

As, therefore, there is in the human mind a natural 
belief in a First Cause, so we may say that there is such 
a thing as natural religion, — a religion which, in the 
depth of its conviction, and the definiteness of its object, 
extends only as far as this natural belief, based on the 
universal law of causality, will carry us. We need not 
say, however, that natural religion in this sense goes a 
very little way to account for and explain the phenomena 
of religious faith, as we meet with it ordinarily around 
us. 

Religious faith, as we see it in daily operation, does 
not certainly assume the aspect of a natural belief. It is 
something far more specific, and far less uniform. On 
the other hand, in the individuality of its nature, the 
strength of its impulses, and the endless variation of its 
types, it comes altogether under the idea of a personal 
conviction. The direct proof of this lies very near. When 
we consider the difficulty there is in establishing purely 
objective evidences for any system, of religion whatever ; 
when we consider how few there are of its confessors 
who can possibly investigate these evidences, or even 
know in what they consist ; when we consider, still 
further, that the strength of conviction as to his faith is 
not in the least degree proportional to the amount of 
study which any one devotes to the objective grounds on 
which it rests, but seems, if anything, rather in favour of 
those who have never investigated them at all ; when we 
consider, lastly, that the same strength of conviction 



NATURAL BELIEF, AND PERSONAL CONVICTION. 333 

appears amongst the followers of numerous contradictory 
systems, the grounds of which lie open to the appre- 
ciation of all alike, we cannot possibly come to any other 
conclusion than that religious faith in the specific sense 
is predominantly a personal conviction — one, too, in 
which scarcely any appreciable amount of objective evi- 
dence in the great majority of cases is mixed up. We do 
not say that religious faith is necessarily of this purely 
personal nature only, but that it is usually so within the 
range of our actual psychological experience. A religion 
may have any assignable amount of objective grounds, 
and come indefinitely near to actual knowledge ; but, as 
a matter of fact, every religion does exist in most minds 
as a purely personal conviction, and exerts its influences 
on the great mass of its votaries, without any considera- 
tion whatever of its external evidences. 

The great peculiarity which the case of religious faith 
presents is the deep and strong belief it carries with it 
of the reality of its objects, despite the undeniable truth 
of its being almost universally a purely personal matter, 
without any more than the very slenderest admixture of 
objective evidence. I say without any more than the 
slenderest objective evidence, because it is now admitted, 
even by the most positive of theologians, that the moral 
evidences of Christianity are those on which the greatest 
stress must be laid ; and that, were these left out of the 
account, the amount of certitude attached to the purely 
historical grounds, without any moral or subjective 
evidences to uphold them, must be of a very indeter- 
minate character. Why is it, then, that we should attach 
such a high degree of certainty to this conviction ? and 
on what principle do we so assuredly attribute an 
objective value to an idea, or a system of ideas, which 
rests, in the case of nearly every individual, entirely on 
subjective grounds ? 



334 THE HUMAN REASON. 

The first thing we have to notice in reply to this ques- 
tion is, — that the import of the faith which religion 
inspires is of such transcendent magnitude that we 
cannot persuade ourselves of the possibility of its being 
a mere subjective delusion. We must admit that some 
truth of the kind that religion offers is morally neces- 
sary for our peace, our hope, and highest happiness as 
men. Hence our whole personality throws itself into the 
religious ideas, and insists upon some truth existing which 
shall give meaning and completeness to the problem 
of human destiny. 

Again, secondly, almost all men have, in connexion 
with religious faith, the strongest feeling that some such 
objects as those involved in it are necessary to give satis- 
faction and completeness to our whole nature. It is the feel- 
ing of necessity, attaching itself to the sensation of external 
objects, that presses the conviction of their real existence 
upon the mind. But sensation is closely allied to feeling. 
The one relates, it is true, to the outer world, the other 
to the inner world ; but, in the form of their existence and 
manifestation, there is a close similarity between them. 
They both come upon us spontaneously, press them- 
selves involuntarily upon our consciousness, and deter- 
mine our mental condition for the moment, without any 
— or, at least, with but very little — control of the will. 
Hence anything which seems to be necessarily involved, 
either in sensation or feeling, as an objective reality, 
makes a strong claim on our belief. In the case of 
sensation, indeed, it gives rise to actual knowledge, 
because we can bring the matter to the test of other 
people's experience, and point to the objective grounds 
of evidence, independently of the sensation which 
primarily revealed it. In the case of feeling we cannot 
do this, inasmuch as it is wholly subjective ; still, the 
involuntary character of the feelings gives the basis, at any 



NATURAL BELIEF, AND PERSONAL CONVICTION. 335 

rate, for a strong belief that the objective truth to 
which they testify is a reality, or contains, at least, the 
groundwork of a reality behind it. Were it not so, why 
should the feeling be so strong ? or whence could it 
derive its character ? We are not conscious of any mental 
process connected with the powers of conception or ima- 
gination, by which the strong conviction involved in the 
religious feelings are created subjectively. We can hardly 
forbear the conclusion, therefore, that there is some reality 
to which they correspond. And this it is which virtually 
solves the whole psychological difficulty of the case, — 
that, namely, of explaining, why a purely personal con- 
viction should testify so stringently to a real objective 
existence, and bring our subjective certitude to so high a 
pitch of realization. The outward senses force upon us 
the existence of external things ; and, as we are enabled 
to test their validity by the experience of others as 
well as ourselves, we term the result positive knowledge. 
The internal feelings force upon us, with almost equal 
strength, the existence of a great First Cause ; but, as 
their validity cannot be tested by any objective expe- 
rience at all, we term the result religious faith. 

Of course, our experience in life tends greatly to 
diminish the conviction, that the precise mode in which 
we apprehend religious subjects has any great evidence 
of being correct over and above the particular modes in 
which many other minds view them. We learn gradu- 
ally to be less positive in regard to details, and learn 
toleration for opinions, which rest upon just the same 
evidence to others that our own do to ourselves. But, 
with all this, it still remains a conviction, which nothing 
can shake in every strongly-religious mind, that the 
truth apparently involved in the religious feelings has 
a basis in reality ; and that it would do violence to 
our very nature to suppose that such a testimony 



336 THE HUMAN REASON. 

should exist within us merely to create a beneficial 
delusion. 

The results of our analysis of Reason may now, in fine, 
be summed up in few words. By reason, we mean 
the power of co-ordinating all the other intellectual 
processes, so as to give rise to human convictions, and 
enable us to adapt ourselves to the universe in which we 
live. Of these convictions, the first and most important 
are those which rest upon indubitable objective grounds, 
and which, therefore, we term knowledge "par excel- 
lence. 5 ' Those convictions which rest upon universal 
consent, but which can produce no objective proofs, we 
term natural beliefs. While, lastly, those which rest on 
the subjective impulses and promptings of our indi- 
vidual nature, are to be considered only in the light of 
personal convictions. Evidence of the first kind is in 
every way irresistible, any opposite convictions being 
either impossible or absurd ; that of the second kind is 
open to speculative doubts, but is always practically un- 
questioned ; that of the third kind may carry any 
amount of force to the individual himself, but can never 
be rendered valid to any other mind differently consti- 
tuted to his own. 



PART VI. 



DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 



CHAPTER I. 

PRELIMINARY EXPLANATIONS. 



In commencing this new division of Mental Philosophy, 
we must retrace our steps back to the point of view, 
which we gained in discussing the primordial forms of 
mental activity. 

Every human being, we have seen, comes into the 
world with a distinct individuality impressed upon him, 
but without any actually existing innate ideas. He 
is placed at birth in the midst of a natural system 
of things, perfectly adapted to his own nature and 
organization. The mutual action and reaction which 
take place between the soul and the world through the 
medium of the nervous system furnish him with the 
primary material of all his ideas. Thus, there are two, 
and only two, sources from which human knowledge can 
possibly be derived — namely, self-consciousness and 
world-consciousness : the inner and the outer sense. 

So much for the matter of human knowledge. With 
regard, next, to the form, this is furnished entirely by 
the great twofold law of all our mental activity. Neither 
self-consciousness nor world-consciousness — neither the 
inner nor the outer sense — could give us anything 
approaching to a perception or an idea, without the 
operation of mind upon the phenomenon presented. 
The first presentation of the material of our ideas is the 
signal for the great law of intelligence to come into 
operation ; and we have shown in detail how, by the 

z 2 



340 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

processes of combining and separating, by the aggrega- 
tion of similar residua, and the distinction of dissimilar, 
all our powers of perception, of ideation, of conception, 
of abstraction, generalization, and reasoning, are one after 
the other formed and developed. We have also surmised 
that this law of mind-formation is but the carrying out 
on a higher sphere of the process which physiology has 
shown to be the active principle of our physical organiza- 
tion ; and that, just as the organs of the body are 
formed by the aggregation of cells, so the faculties of 
the mind are formed by the aggregation of residua — 
both the one and the other, however, starting at first 
with a definite individuality, and with the possession of 
primordial powers and susceptibilities corresponding 
with the elements of nature in the midst of which 
we are placed. Thus, we have one single principle as 
the universal basis of life, whether that of the body 
or that of the soul. 

Now, the will does not, of course, express any real 
thing distinct from the mind and its operations. It 
is merely the mind itself viewed in relation to effort 
and action, instead of intelligence and reason. The 
will, therefore, is really involved in every mental act, 
even though the aim of that act be purely intellectual. 
We may find a very simple analogy by which to 
comprehend the relation between will and intelligence 
if we appeal to nature around us. In every plant that 
grows, we can distinguish the form of the plant (the 
idea, if I may so say, to which it conforms) from the 
vital force by which it unfolds itself. On the one side, 
we see a certain type; on the other side, we see the 
effort of the plant to realize that type. Carrying over 
this analogy to man, we see in every human being a 
given type of individuality, and a constant effort to 
unfold it. The only difference is, that as in man we^ 



PRELIMINARY EXPLANATIONS. 341 

have a higher order of existence ascending progressively 
to consciousness, perception, and reason, so, also, we 
have in the corresponding line of effort a series of stages 
rising up from a blind impulse to spontaneity and 
freedom. What reason is on the side of the intellect, 
freedom is on the side of the will. Reason is enligh- 
tened intelligence, and will is self-regulated action. If, 
then, the will be merely the mind itself (the mind with 
which we have all along been occupied), only viewed on 
another side of its nature and activity, then the very 
same laws ought to regulate it here also; and the 
growth of volitional power ought to proceed in the same 
way, and by the same laws, as that of the intellect. 

Just as we have traced the development of the under- 
standing and reason through a succession of stages, be- 
ginning with the primordial instincts, and rising up 
successively to more and more complicated forms of 
intelligence ; so ought we now to trace the development 
of the will, through a succession of similar steps, from 
the first instinctive efforts of our nature up to enligh- 
tened and self-regulated activity. Moreover^ we should 
naturally look for the same great fundamental laws to 
regulate the growth of the will as we have seen regu- 
lating the growth of the intellect — I mean the laws 
of combination and separation. The difference in the 
application of these laws, however, will be this : — that, 
whereas we had before to do with the combination and 
separation of ideas, we have now to do with the compo- 
sition and resolution of mental forces. Thus, we are 
brought into a sphere of mental dynamics, the primordial 
impulse of which, indeed, like that of the universe, is 
transcendental {i.e., lying beyond the possible reach of 
human experience), but of which the real manifestations 
and developments are quite capable of being analyzed 
and tabulated. 



342 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

We shall find, in proceeding to do this, that every 
mental impulse, as well as every idea, is imperishable ; 
that it leaves its residua behind it ; that these volitional 
residua follow the same laws of action and reaction as 
those of our perceptions and ideas ; that their combina- 
tion, like the composition of forces, gives additional 
power in the same direction ; and that the resolution of 
them may direct the mental force from one to various 
different points. Lastly, we shall find that, as intel- 
lectual force becomes more and more explicit as it 
proceeds onwards, so volitional force tends to extricate 
itself more and more from the influence of circum- 
stances, and to assume the great attribute of freedom. 
With this brief preliminary explanation, we shall proceed 
next to the more detailed analysis of the subject. 



CHAPTER II. 

ON THE MOTOR MECHANISM IN RELATION TO 
THE WILL. 

It is not difficult to imagine a rational inhabitant of 
some other sphere placed all at once in the middle of a 
large spinning-mill, and set to exercise his reason upon 
the phenomena there presented. He might, by close 
attention, soon detect a completely-organized system in 
the complicated mechanical movements; he might see 
that the more rapid revolutions were derived from the 
slower ones, and perfectly understand how the accelera- 
tion of motion was produced ; he might gain, in the 
end, a perfect knowledge of the whole of the mechanism, 
and trace the working of it all back to the main shaft ; 
but then the question would come at last, How is the 
motion itself originally produced? So long as his 
observation was confined within the four walls of the 
edifice, this point could only be a matter of speculation. 
His knowledge of the internal machinery, indeed, would 
be positive and definite ; but the question as to the 
cause of the motion, lying, as it would, beyond the bounds 
of experience, must be to him altogether transcendental. 
Now, there are many situations in which we occupy a 
position perfectly analogous to that which we have just 
imagined. We are placed, for example, in the midst of 
the vast machinery of the solar system. Human reason 
has succeeded in comprehending that system so perfectly 
that we can foretel the revolutions of the heavenly bodies 



344 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

for thousands of years to come, to the fraction of a 
second of time. But, now that all this labour is accom- 
plished, the question still comes, — What is it that set the 
whole in motion ? The exact force with which the earth 
was hurled forth on its pathway round the sun has been 
calculated. Whence, then, was that force derived ? 
This question, like that before imagined, is a purely 
transcendental one ; that is, it relates to an agency which 
lies wholly beyond the limits of human experience. We 
have a natural belief, confirmed by an almost universal 
human conviction, that this motion comes from a Divine 
creative power ; but this belief can never, as a matter 
of human science, pass into the region of positive 
knoivledge. 

The two illustrations above given will enable us 
better to understand how we are situated, scientifically, 
in relation to the motor phenomena of the animal frame. 
We witness the flight of the insect, the gambols of the 
young colt, the activity of the schoolboy in adapting his 
muscular movements, all unconsciously, so as to avoid 
danger or impress force, and we ask where is the 
origin, where the primary impelling power of these 
complicated systems of movement ? The question, once 
more, is transcendental. We may call the power which 
we seek for, the vital principle, or we may call it the 
animal soul, or we may give it any other name we please, 
but the source of motion in the animal frame, for all 
that, lies without the bounds of human experience ; and 
we can only fall back upon a natural belief confirmed 
by the languages of all mankind, that there is something 
which we call life, or something which we call soul, that 
contains within it the power of organizing the atoms of 
the human body, imparting vigour to the frame, and 
impelling it to motions adapted for the purposes of self- 
preservation and enjoyment. 



ON THE MOTOR MECHANISM, ETC. 345 

We have premised these few considerations in order to 
make t/iis clear in the outset, that, however closely we 
may analyze the mechanism of the human organization, 
in regard to its motor power, there is still a primary 
point which our researches cannot reach; a human 
monad in which we may believe, but which we can never 
find; a source of power in the individual [" the me "] 
which no chemistry can possibly account for, and no 
fluid, however subtile, could ever produce. Keeping 
this truth in view, we can go on to analyze the motor 
system of the human organs without any danger of con- 
founding the secondary causes at work there with that 
original source of power which lies beyond the reach of 
our actual observation. 

The simplest and most primitive class of movements 
which we are able to detect in connexion with the human 
frame are those which are called reflex. By reflex 
movement we mean that property which any of the 
nervous centres possess of responding to an impulse 
affecting them. Such a response does not require to be 
accompanied by consciousness, still less by volition, in 
the proper sense of the word. An impulse given to any 
part of the human body externally is propagated by the 
nerve or nerves affected onwards towards the centre of 
the nervous system. The wave of innervation, however, 
after a time, separates into two branches; the one 
carries the impression to the seat of sensation, and 
awakens consciousness and feeling, the other proceeds to 
some of the main strands of the motor system, and pro- 
duces a motor reaction, which corresponds to the impulse 
first given. It may be, however, that the sensational, or 
incident impression, never reaches the seat of conscious- 
ness, or gives any intimation of its existence to the mind ; 
while the motor current actually accomplishes its purpose, 
and produces a muscular reaction, of which we, of 



346 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

course, can have then no direct cognisance. Such a fact 
appears, at first, to imply something very much approach- 
ing to mere mechanism, and yet it is not wholly so. 
Secondary agents, it is true, may be employed ; indeed, 
there is good reason to think that electricity is active in 
every single case of muscular movement ; and yet every 
such movement may be pretty clearly shown, after all, to 
be initiated by vital-force, or mind-force, or some such 
transcendental agency, in the reality of which we believe, 
but which we cannot detect. 

That this is the case appears quite evident from the 
special adaptation which many of the so-called reflex 
movements have to certain special purposes. For although 
mere mechanism may so far bear the impress of the 
maker's mind upon it as to subserve ends which he 
foresaw, yet no mere mechanism can show special 
teleological contrivances adapted to meet new series of 
events and circumstances as they arise. Again, the 
purely mechanical theory of reflex action is rendered 
quite inadmissible by the fact that the very same kind of 
movements may be excited by ideas quite as readily as 
by actual impulses from without. The thought of a 
sword-cut will make the muscles of the spot on which it 
is conceived to fall, contract; the idea of anything 
nauseous will affect the muscles of the thorax, and even 
produce actual sickness ; laughter is a muscular affection 
often quite beyond the control of the will, and created 
by trains of thought in the mind, whether expressed or 
unexpressed. Gestures are the same. Indeed, our 
thoughts may produce reflex movements, which go on 
continuously until they are stayed or controlled by some 
other counteracting thoughts or purposes. Thus we go 
on walking mile after mile, even when absorbed in con- 
versation or reverie, the action of the limbs being purely 
reflex all the while, and the movement going on in 



ON THE MOXOR MECHANISM, ETC. 347 

obedience to a general idea or purpose, without any 
renewed volition, or attentive consciousness on our part. 
Nay, even in cases where volition comes in as the 
primary impulse to any action, the will can only accom- 
plish its purpose by exciting the motor mechanism to do 
the work required in its own way. We are wholly 
ignorant of the muscles we have to move in order to 
effect any given action, and equally ignorant of the 
process by which the proper movements can be effected. 
All this must be left to the natural reflex agency of the 
motor system; and sad would it be for us if this 
mechanism did not work more perfectly than our will or 
intelligence could teach it. 

The mind and will, accordingly, stand to the motor 
system, not in the relation of an engineer to the 
machinery which he has constructed, all the wheels and 
contrivances of which he understands, and the working 
of which he can perfectly overlook; it stands to it, 
rather, in the relation of the engine-driver, who may 
understand nothing of the mechanism he sets in motion, 
but who may simply know that certain external move- 
ments performed will, in some way, lead to certain 
known results. The mechanism of the motor system 
holds itself quite indifferent in regard to the immediate 
source from which the impulse that affects it may be 
derived, so long as that impulse is really given. It may 
be derived from an external impact on the nervous 
system, which never reaches the consciousness at all, as 
in the case of those phenomena which are usually termed 
excito-motor ; or it may be produced by a sensation or 
an emotion, through any of the ordinary organs, the 
mind and will standing quietly by, and not interfering 
in the matter, as when we involuntarily follow the 
movements of a fencer, or shrink at the sight of any 
danger happening to a fellow-creature ; or it may be 



348 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

produced by an idea only, where no outward affection of 
the nervous system is involved, and no volition exercised 
either, as when the idea of an injury makes us involun- 
tarily withdraw the limb on which we imagine it to fall \ 
or, lastly, it may be produced by a direct volition, 
which, it must be observed, never possesses the power 
to move a single muscle of the body, but only gives its 
impulses to the central ganglionic region, by which the 
motor system is regulated, and then leaves that system 
to accomplish the object desired in its own way. 

Thus, in point of fact, the human frame is a perfect 
automaton in relation to the will. The complicated 
movements by which all our muscular activity is carried 
on are as much removed from our consciousness as 
though they were the wheels and pulleys of a man- 
machine. The mind contemplates an end which it 
desires to accomplish, and the will, looking over all the 
intermediate agency, gives the signal for action. Whether 
we are able, however, to perform the movements by 
which this end is secured, is a point which can only be 
decided by experience. Very often, after the will has 
sent forth its mandate, the motor system falls short, and 
we fail to accomplish what the will commands. In this 
case no mere effort of will can bridge over the difficulty. 
Our only help lies in a more perfect training of the 
motor mechanism to this particular end. When, by 
such training, new facility is acquired, the power thus 
formed is termed the power of habit. 

The power of habit is one which admits of compara- 
tively easy analysis, and which will at the same time 
afford us a good example of the operation of the funda- 
mental laws of mind within the region of voluntary 
activity. Reflex action, like the phenomenon of sensation, 
is an ultimate and indecomposable fact. The different 
parts of the nervous system, when brought into relation 



ON THE MOTOR MECHANISM, ETC. 349 

with certain natural agencies, manifest certain distinctive 
phenomena, which we cannot account for, but only 
observe. Why it is that one set of nerves should 
produce sensation, and another motor reaction, we do 
not know, any more than we know why the optic nerves 
should be sensitive to luminous vibrations, and those of 
the ear to vibrations of the atmosphere. These are, in 
fact, some of the ultimate phenomena which we have to 
colligate and examine, but which positive science does 
not attempt to explain. 

Just as sensations, then, lie at the basis of our intel- 
lectual life, and form the primary material on which the 
mind first begins to work in the direction of knowledge, 
so do reflex actions lie at the basis of our volitional life, 
and form the primary facts out of which the mind first 
begins to work in the direction of activity. The mode, 
too, in which this volitional development takes place is 
strictly analogous with the growth of our perceptive 
power. Every mental experience, as we before saw, 
leaves its residuum behind it ; and the blending of 
similar residua forms the chief method by which the 
perceptive power increases in a given direction. As this 
process of development goes on, we gain the power of 
perceiving objects, almost at a glance ; the smallest 
intimation of their presence awakening the combined 
masses of residuary experience, which we have stored 
up in the mind, and enabling us to complete the whole 
image of an object, when we only see the very smallest 
part. 

Now, if we turn to the chapter on the Nature of 
Residua (Part II., Chap, iv.), we find that, laying aside all 
theories on the question, and looking merely at the facts 
of the case, there remains, after every mental experience 
and every mental act, a tendency to recur whenever the 
slightest suggestion in the same direction may take 



350 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

place. This tendency to recur forms the very essence of 
what we mean by residua; i.e., it explains the pheno- 
menon, as it presents itself to our actual observation, 
without attempting to assign the cause. Putting, then, 
together these two things — 1st, the fact of reflex action, 
or the capacity which certain parts of the nervous system 
have to respond to an impulse in exciting muscular 
motion ; and, 2dly, the law by which every mental fact 
once experienced tends, at every favourable opportunity, 
to recur — we have the whole principle on which to 
account for the rise and formation of active habits. 

Habit is to the general power of voluntary activity 
very much the same thing as perception is, in relation to 
the general power of intelligence. Just as we learn to 
perceive instinctively, by the accumulation and complete 
blending of innumerable mental residua, so we learn to 
perform all the ordinary actions of life by the accumula- 
tion of volitional residua, giving an unconscious automatic 
direction to the motor system. The child at first has no 
power over the guidance and direction of its limbs in 
reference to any external desire or purpose which it may 
form. It is quite easy to watch its tentative efforts, and 
see it fail in grasping an object, which it appears in after 
life to lay hold of with a perfectly unconscious and 
instinctive precision. The reason is, that the motor 
residua are not yet formed; the tendency for a given 
hind of action to recur when any particular desire is 
conceived has not yet been created, or, if partly created, 
is not sufficiently strengthened in this particular direc- 
tion. Just as we must learn to perceive the most common 
objects — objects which we afterwards seem to know by a 
direct and irresistible intuition — so we must learn to do 
the most ordinary acts ; although, when we have learned, 
we seem to ourselves to perform them quite instinctively. 
The power of habit, in fact, created in this way by the 



ON THE MOTOK, MECHANISM, ETC. 351 

accumulation of motor residua, lies at the foundation of 
the entire working of our practical life. 

The formation of habits, however, can be most easily 
traced in cases where they are learned later in life, and 
where any original instinctive tendencies are wholly out 
of the question. In this respect they stand parallel to 
those perceptions which are ordinarily termed acquired, 
and which belong especially to individuals who have had 
the peculiar opportunities necessary for acquiring them. 
We might take the power of playing on a musical 
instrument as a very good typal example of these 
specially formed habits. A person perfectly acquainted 
with music, and understanding how every note is made 
on the instrument he is going to learn, tries to play 
some musical passage placed before him, and, as a matter 
of course, entirely fails. The instrument in his hands 
seems entirely unmanageable; he is unable to find the 
position of the keys while he is looking at the music 
before him; and his fingers cannot move over them 
either with the precision or rapidity which is necessary 
to produce the effect required. He is, in fact, exactly in 
the same position with regard to the instrument which 
every child at first is with regard to the external world. 
He has never made any movements specially adapted to 
elicit a musical effect from it ; he has accordingly formed 
no habit, and has no motor residua stored up which can 
be excited to aid him in performing what is termed the 
mechanical part of the task. He has to fall back, conse- 
quently, at first, upon what power of muscular motion he 
has already acquired, and, by close voluntary attention, 
to spell out, as it were, every movement of the hand 
which is necessary to perform each musical note or 
phrase. When this has been done once, the first step has 
been taken, the first residua have been formed, and a 
muscular movement has been effected, which is exactly 



__: 



352 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

so much the more easy to reproduce, as the tendency to 
recurrence, even after one attempt, is somewhat greater 
than it was before. The subsequent steps are a mere 
repetition of the first one. The motor mechanism has to 
be trained by little and little to this especial work. 
Every repetition adds to the quantity of specialized 
motor power which is being accumulated, and thus, in 
process of time, a habit is formed, which is so strong, 
that the mere sight of the notes before us will excite 
the special nervous actions which are necessary to 
perform or reproduce them on the instrument. The act 
thus becomes virtually reflex ; and the mind of the artist 
can be occupied, if need be, with other subjects, and 
leave it to the eye and the hand to perform the music 
spontaneously. 

All mechanical acts are learned exactly in this same 
way. In proportion as volition has to be exercised in 
carrying them on, in that proportion they are imperfectly 
performed, and then only at the expense of much labour 
and fatigue. In proportion, on the other hand, as the 
tendency to recur has become established by means of 
the accumulation of special motor residua, in that pro- 
portion the perfection of the workman becomes greater, 
while he performs his task without fatigue. The great 
thing in all such cases is to transfer the action from the 
region of volition to that of quasi reflex action ; and to 
whatever extent this can be accomplished, the power and 
endurance of the workman or artist becomes exactly so 
much the greater, and his work so much the more 
perfect in execution. A purely reflex act is accompanied 
with no fatigue at all, so that operations which were 
painful in the extreme to the muscles engaged, so long 
as the will had to impel every movement for their 
performance, can, after a while, be kept up the whole 
day, with scarcely any sense of weariness whatever. 



ON THE MOTOR MECHANISM, ETC. 353 

Where the habits to be acquired are of a very delicate 
kind, and require peculiar rapidity of muscular motion, 
it is necessary that they be commenced in early life. 
At this period the motor mechanism has not yet acquired 
any very strong tendencies in any direction, so that 
residua may be accumulated without difficulty, and 
made to tell with especial force upon any one particular 
facility which it is designed to cultivate. After a time, 
conflicting associations come in, antagonistic habits are 
formed, and as much labour has to be undergone in 
overcoming these as in acquiring the others. The habit, 
for example, of moving the fingers consentaneously is 
ordinarily so strong, that that individual action of them, 
which the expert pianist requires, can hardly ever be 
gained except in early life. For the same reason, habits 
of graceful movement should be early impressed upon 
children to prevent that " gauclierie " which the want of 
such early training almost always leaves behind. Where 
such habits are gained in early life they remain as a 
heritage to the motor system ever after. The mind and 
the will may henceforth banish all thought and all effort 
regarding them. Once laid up amongst the residua 
ready for action, the motor mechanism will reproduce 
them whenever the association prompts, and thus good 
manners, as far as the outward expression is concerned, 
become a part of our unconscious spontaneity. 



A A 



CHAPTER III. 

INSTINCTIVE ACTIONS. 

The reflex actions, which we were considering in the 
last chapter, may be regarded as purely mechanical in 
relation to the consciousness and the will. It is true, 
they are guided inwardly by an intelligent principle; 
but then that principle, so far as it subserves these 
particular actions, is wholly preconscious and involuntary 
in its operation. The same may be said of habits when 
once completely formed. They usually commence in 
volitional acts ; but, after a time, they become trans- 
ferred, as we have before shown, from the voluntary to 
the automatic region of motor phenomena. 

Now the instinctive phenomena, to which we next 
proceed, hold a kind of middle place between the 
mechanical and the voluntary form of human activity. 
On the one hand, they are not mere blind responses to 
an impulse, a sensation, an emotion, or an idea. Nor, 
on the other hand, do they imply activity prompted by 
a distinctly realised purpose or determination. The 
power of the will is not indeed entirely suspended, as is 
the case in the reflex phenomena ; it exercises still a kind 
of general control, sufficient to modify very materially 
the course of action which is implied by any particular 
instinct. Neither, speaking in relation to intelligence, 
are the instinctive actions wholly blind, and unconscious 
of a purpose. Spontaneity may indeed be much more 
characteristic of them than any intelligent reflective 



INSTINCTIVE ACTIONS. 355 

adaptation to an end ; but, still so far as human 
instincts are concerned, the perception of a purpose is 
not wholly wanting. Whether the bird, for instance, in 
building its nest looks forward to its young brood we 
cannot say, because we are wholly unable to realize what 
is passing in its consciousness ; but in man we can hardly 
separate the parental instincts from the ends which they 
are directly intended to subserve. 

To explain the exact character of the instinctive 
actions w r e must refer to a region of mental phenomena, 
into which we have not, in any detail, yet entered, I 
mean the feelings ; phenomena, which every one, however, 
understands, although he may not have regarded them 
from a philosophical point of view. Every instinctive act, 
then, we find by due observation, to be grounded in some 
natural feeling. This it is to which it owes its origin, 
and which stamps upon it its whole distinctive character. 
Thus the feeling of hunger and thirst gives rise to the 
instinctive appetency for food. The parental feeling 
gives rise to the instinctive impulse towards the care 
and preservation of the child ; and so with all the other 
natural instinct^. 

As the nature and psychology of the feelings have yet 
to be considered, all we have to do just at present in 
analysing the instinctive actions, according to this view of 
the case, is to show how they spring and develop them- 
selves out of those special feelings in which they are 
primarily cradled. To do this, we shall only have to 
apply the law of similarity, and then to trace the growth 
of the instincts in the same way as we have traced that 
of all the other faculties. 

Feelings are of very various kinds. Some are in- 
tensely pleasurable, others intensely painful. Others, 
again, are neither the one nor the other, but may tend 
either to the agreeable or the disagreeable, according to 

A a 2 s 



356 DEVELOPMENT OE THE WILL. 

circumstances. One of the most common of all feelings 
is the feeling of want, or uneasiness — a craving for some- 
thing which is not allayed till the want is supplied. 
Thus when the stomach is long without food we have a 
physical feeling of want, — a craving which suitable 
aliment alone will satisfy. This feeling is not synonym- 
ous with the instinct which prompts us to seek food. 
The first effect of it is to produce restlessness and 
disquietude. The infant in its mother's arms, when in 
want of food, becomes fretful ; to quiet its restlessness 
it is moved to the breast, and soon finds the craving 
supplied. Having thus once, twice, and then perhaps 
several times more, experienced relief to the feeling of 
craving and disquietude, which it repeatedly experiences, 
a tendency to seek its supply of food in this particular 
way is very soon superinduced — so that the impulse to 
act becomes intimately associated with the feeling of 
want. This impulse to act is what we term the instinct, 
properly so called ; and though its first starting-point 
may be purely natural [i.e., not acquired], yet the whole 
of its subsequent development and specialization takes 
place in accordance with the law, by virtue of which the 
repetition of any action increases, and intensifies the 
tendency to it for the future. 

The sexual instinct is formed and developed by the 
same process. The sexual feeling is one which lies 
deeply planted in our nature ; but this feeling does not 
necessarily involve from the first any definite instinctive 
action designed for its satisfaction. Perfectly pure- 
minded persons, whose thoughts have been well directed, 
and whose imaginations have not been stimulated by 
books or conversation bearing upon these topics, do not 
ordinarily show any decided tendency to cause the mere 
feeling to pass over into action. The feeling is there, 
but the instinct has not yet been drawn out of it. Just 



INSTINCTIVE ACTIONS. 357 

in proportion, on the other hand, as the mind is led to 
dwell upon the means of satisfaction will the instinct 
assume a special and active form • and when the residua 
are allowed to accumulate unduly in this direction, the 
impulse becomes so strong as to break down every 
restraint which may lie against the attainment of its 
object. 

If it be objected to this that the strength of the 
sexual impulse diminishes with the fulness of its satis- 
faction, whereas, on this theory, it ought to increase, I 
reply, that the tendency to seek the direct means of 
satisfaction does increase, however much the vividness of 
the feeling may diminish. On this account it is that 
incontinence will still live on in the habitually licentious, 
even after the animal gratification has been wellnigh 
destroyed by oversatiety. 

As man was intended to be guided by the higher gift 
of reason, in the full sense of that word, the instinctive 
acts proper to him are naturally very limited. Those, 
too, which he does possess are not of a striking character, 
but relate, for the most part, to those elementary and 
almost mechanical processes which are necessary for the 
direct well-being of the individual, or the continuance of 
the species. In the lower animals, on the other hand, 
we find a much wider scope for observation upon the 
nature and variety of instinctive actions. Whether we 
regard the habits of birds, beasts, or fishes, we have 
presented to us in all alike a rich profusion of phenomena 
of this kind. In the arts they practise to obtain their 
food, to shun the approach of danger, to hide themselves 
from observation, to attack their enemies or defend 
themselves from them, to build their habitations, and to 
bring up their young to maturity, we may see, in the 
various tribes of animals, an inexhaustible series of 



358 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

instinctive actions, far exceeding in interest and curiosity 
all that exists in the human species of the same nature. 

How, then, does our theory of the origin of instinct 
harmonize with these phenomena of the animal creation ? 
Can we maintain that here, as well as in man, the 
instinctive acts are the growth of experience, grounded 
upon certain fundamental feelings ? For on the possi- 
bility of reducing all instincts to this same general law 
of growth will depend, mainly, the strength of the 
evidence we have for the truth of the theory, as applied 
to man. 

One thing, of course, we must concede to be purely 
natural and a priori in the sphere of instinct, and that 
is, the tendency to move the physical apparatus which 
every animal possesses in the way it is obviously intended 
to be used. All birds have the tendency to move their 
wings and their beak ; the elephant has the tendency to 
put its trunk in and out ; the fish, to row with its fins, 
and steer with its tail ; the child, to swallow with its 
gullet, and suck with its tongue and lips. But these 
actions are purely mechanical, and do not, in the first 
instance, represent any definite adaptation to a particular 
purpose. Beyond this, we conceive, the force of habit 
and experience comes in as a modifying principle, and 
adapts the primordial instinctive tendencies to more 
specific ends. 

We see, for example, that the power of instinct in 
animals is, strictly speaking, educable. Animals placed 
in peculiar situations or climates gradually adapt them- 
selves to them. The instinctive powers of their nature 
seem to expand in this or that direction according to the 
exigencies of the case ; and this is very much the same 
thing as saying that the instinct itself, beyond the first 
primordial and general impulse to use the organs pro- 



INSTINCTIVE ACT TONS. 359 

vided, grows into this or that specialized form by means 
of habit and experience. 

Nor is this all. We have every reason to believe that 
the power of specialized instincts is transmitted from 
one generation to another, and, where the circumstances 
favour it, goes on increasing from age to age in intensity, 
and in particular adaptation to the purposes demanded. 
All domesticated animals, for example, were originally 
wild; but, when once thoroughly tamed, the offspring, 
in the next generation, partake of the domesticated 
character by a specialized instinct. The case is the same 
with animals trained to particular purposes. The young 
pointer signals the game the very first time he takes the 
field ; the young watch- dog barks at a stranger without 
ever being taught to do so. All confirmed habits which 
become a part of the animal nature seem to be imparted 
by hereditary descent ; and thus what seems to be an 
original instinct may, after all, be but the accumulated 
growth and experience of many generations. If this 
view T of the case be true, it fully bears out the explana- 
tion of the origin of instinct we have already given, 
attributing to the force of habit, experience, and circum- 
stances, all those special acts which mark the instinctive 
life of the whole animal creation. It need hardly be 
remarked how entirely this analysis of instinct harmonizes 
with Mr. Darwin's general theory of the origin of species. 

In man there are, beside the more mechanical cases above 
mentioned, certain mental endowments w T hich, in their 
results, exhibit all the marks of instinctive action. Thus 
we see some persons born with a natural artistic power, 
enabling them to imitate the forms of nature by a kind of 
inward impulse which they can hardly resist, and in per- 
forming which they have no definite object beyond the 
mere pleasure of the act itself. Others show the same 
original bent towards music, others towards mechanism, 



360 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

and so forth. To speak of a primordial innate instinpt for 
art, music, or mechanical contrivance, would, of course, be 
absurd. If such instincts formed a part of the essence of 
human nature, they would be universal, and would not be 
confined to a select few. The truth is that instinctive 
tendencies, in these and many other directions, are 
formed sometimes in the individual by the circumstances 
of early life, sometimes in the family, by hereditary 
transmission. Of the transmission of peculiar motor 
habits from parent to child we have the most abundant 
evidence. Who has not remarked the little indefinable 
similarities, in the unconscious movement of the limbs 
and features, which exist between the father and the son ? 
" Every man," as Mr. Emerson has quaintly expressed it, 
" has some portion of his ancestors potted within him." 
I have heard it from a celebrated physician, that, on 
announcing to a nobleman the birth of an heir, he 
expressed his excessive joy by twirling his hands rapidly 
round each other. A few years after, the father having 
died, he brought a very welcome present to the child, at 
a time too early for him to have had any remembrance of 
the father or his habits. The child at once expressed 
his joy by performing exactly the same twisting opera- 
tion which his father had performed at his birth. 

This same fact of transmission is applicable to the 
intellectual and artistic instincts we have already men- 
tioned. We can hardly say that the development of 
poetic genius, or of artistic power, in the form of sculp- 
ture, painting, and architecture, such as we see it among 
the early Greeks, and similar instinctive impulses amongst 
other people, are volitional phenomena. All such ac- 
tivities occupy that intermediate ground between our 
mechanical and volitional life, which we have assigned 
to the province of instinct; and all bear out the theory 
we have propounded, that, beyond the first general 



INSTINCTIVE ACTIONS. 361 

tendency, the whole of the specialized acts of our 
instinctive life have been formed either by the experience 
of the individual or by the transmission in the race. In 
both cases, the laws of the combination and blending of 
residua form the psychological fact on which the whole 
of the theory turns, and by means of which it can be 
scientifically explained. 

Thus we find a perfect identity in the principle by 
which the intellectual and the volitional powers in 
these their earlier forms are constructed. Human 
intelligence learns to interpret all the different sensa- 
tions by innumerable trials, and the accumulation of 
numberless experiences, until we seem to comprehend 
them quite spontaneously. In like manner, human 
activity learns to adapt itself to our physical wants 
by countless tentative efforts, until active habits are 
formed, which appear to be purely natural and instinc- 
tive. What perception is to the intellect, instinct is to 
the will ; both spring out of primordial impulses ; but 
both are formed into special faculties by the laws of 
residual combination and growth. 



CHAPTER IV. 



DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITIONAL POWER. 



We have now come to the point where volitional activity 
may be said to begin. In the previous stages, as de- 
scribed in the last two chapters, we are approaching 
gradually nearer and nearer to this point, but do not 
come, strictly speaking, within the limits of it. Thus, 
in the primary form of reflex action, we have an exercise 
of motor power, which, as far as our consciousness is 
concerned, is purely mechanical. The extremities of the 
nerves are excited, and an action follows, of which we 
need not have any consciousness whatever. No doubt, 
the life-principle (which we regard as being at the root 
identical with the mind-principle) is the impelling force 
from which all these reflex phenomena proceed ; but, as 
they have nothing to do with the region of consciousness, 
they can only be placed by us, as we said, within the 
category of mechanical actions. 

Then, next, we have a secondary kind of reflex action, 
which has been sometimes termed sensori-motor. We 
experience a particular sensation, or a vivid idea, or 
a sudden emotion, and a muscular movement follows 
involuntarily. Here the element of consciousness exists, 
but there is no volitional control exerted. All such 
actions, accordingly, though they come one step nearer 
to volitional action than the purely reflex movements do, 
yet cannot be placed amongst those which are actually 
originated by the wilL Then, thirdly, we have the 



DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITIONAL POWER. 363 

instinctive acts, so largely developed amongst the lower 
animals, and exhibited, to some extent, in mankind as 
well. These instinctive acts do really involve (at least, 
as far as man is concerned) some indefinite perception of 
an end to be answered. Starting from a natural feeling 
of pleasure or pain, they lead us, by the aid of expe- 
rience, to seek the one or avoid the other ; and so adapt 
themselves to the circumstances in which each indi- 
vidual is placed as to secure the desired end most 
readily. Thus, they approach very nearly to the idea of 
a habit — of a habit, however, which becomes so much a 
part of our nature, that the process of its acquisition is 
lost sight of, and only a very general control is exercised 
by the will. 

Having arrived so far towards the region of volition, 
we may now be said to cross the line and enter it, 
although it must be manifest that the boundary is by no 
means sharply defined, and that the acts of instinct 
insensibly shade off into those of the will. Nay, even 
after we have most undoubtedly crossed this line, still, 
there is a vast step between volition in its lowest and in 
its highest sense. For example, one man commits a 
crime without forethought, under the influence of a 
strong and imperious passion. The act is regarded as a 
voluntary one, and he is held responsible for it ; but, in 
proportion as the passion was great, and the provocation 
to it strong, the criminality of the act is lessened, just 
because there was a less amount of will and a larger 
amount of mere impulse underlying it. Very different 
is the view we take of an action which has no exalted 
passion or emotion to excite it, but is the clear result of 
forethought, calculation, and determined purpose. How- 
ever strong the will may seem to be when under the 
influence of strong passion, it is really weak, having 
resigned the greater portion of its regulating power into 



364 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

the hands of a mere momentary feeling. In fact, just in 
proportion as onr actions are decided by immediate 
impulses, they approach nearer to the instinctive cha- 
racter, and the will is accounted feeble ; while, just in 
proportion as we act from reason, forethought, purpose, 
and fixed intention, the power of the will is regarded as 
dominant. 

These considerations enable us to throw the whole 
psychological question respecting the nature of the 
human will into a clearer light. Will, in the special 
acceptation of the term, is not simply the power of spon- 
taneous action, for such action begins in the early stages 
of our mental development, before anything approaching 
to a definite design or purpose is formed. What we 
really mean by will is a complex state, composed of 
many different elements ; it is a state in which the 
power of spontaneous action, which we originally possess 
as part of our nervous organization, is directed by the 
co-operation of the other faculties to a specific end. 
This is the complex state we have to analyze, and the 
precise elements of which w T e must endeavour now to 
point out. 

1. The first of the ingredients we have to enumerate as 
essential to every thoroughly volitional act, is intelli- 
gence developed to a certain degree of maturity. With- 
out such intelligence, there can be no clear appreciation 
of an end or purpose. So far as the lower animals pos- 
sess a kind of intelligence, and the power of conceiving a 
purpose in their minds, they may be said to have a will 
also. But, as the brute intelligence is altogether below 
our own, the term will, as applied to them, must have a 
very modified meaning. As the mind of the mere 
animal looks very little beyond the present, so its actions 
must be determined mainly by the impulse of the mo- 
ment ; and it is only so far as the spark of intelligence 



DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITIONAL POWER. 365 

which the brutes possess glimmers above the sphere of 
their passions and desires, that any act they perform can 
be said to be an act of volition. 

We must not infer from this that the power of will in 
man runs in the slightest degree parallel with the power 
of reason. While reason, on the one hand, is a neces- 
sary condition of its existence, there are, on the other 
hand, special causes, quite apart from the amount of our 
intelligence, on which the strength of the will mainly 
depends. We not unfrequently find men of small 
intelligence in possession of an iron will and a fixed 
resolution ; while we find men of the highest intellect 
(like Coleridge) weak, irresolute, and marked with a 
fatal deficiency of volitional power. 

Every one, again, is more or less conscious of the 
antagonism which sometimes shows itself between the 
reason and the will. Cases perpetually occur in which 
passion impels us towards one course of action, while 
reason as decidedly points us to another. This struggle 
goes on often for a long time, while the victory trembles 
in the balance ; and at last, perhaps (as too frequently 
happens) the will actually takes the course which the 
reason condemns, being decided by the superior strength 
of the passions in this direction. Intelligence, then, is a 
condition essential to the existence of will, though it is 
not the measure of it. 

2. Another element which is essential to every voli- 
tional act, is the power of weighing motives, and so of 
suspending our decision, and consequently our activity 
while so occupied. If a motive work upon us so forcibly 
(whether in the form of exciting an uncontrollable desire, 
or raising an unconquerable aversion), that we are unable 
to suspend the action to which it prompts us, our will 
is exactly so far weakened and overcome, and we become 
mere instruments, obedient to the mandate of the 



366 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

emotions. Hence, anger is called " a short madness'' and 
men are sometimes said to be maddened by passion ; by 
which we understand that the power of balancing the 
motives of their actions is, for the moment, so lost in the 
violence of the feelings, that they act as though they 
were really insane. The control of the reason over our 
actions really involves the power of suspending our 
choice, and of allowing a motive to have a greater 
or less degree of influence over us. Were we determined 
at once by the strongest outward motive, without our 
having any power of suspense, we could not be said to 
exercise volition at all, but would be simply organized 
machines played upon by an external force, and not by 
any means free agents. 

Were this state of balance, however, to continue, we 
should have realized the fable of the ass, that starved 
between two bundles of hay, through not being able to 
decide which of the two it should eat from. An act of 
volition, therefore, implies something more. It implies, 

3. The power of bringing on a decision. This power 
of decision may assume two forms. It may arise, first, 
from our allowing the strongest out of the many motives 
operating upon us to determine the course of action we 
have to pursue ; in other words, from the relaxation of 
our power of resistance, and from the voluntary resigning 
ourselves to the strength of the motives affecting us. Just 
as it requires an exertion of physical force to remain 
stationary, when we are subjected to pressure or impulse, 
so also does it require an exertion of rational and voli- 
tional force, to suspend a mental decision, when strong 
motives are urging us to one side or the other. It often 
happens, accordingly, that the determination to act 
arises simply from the relaxation of this suspensive effort. 
We become weary of the exertion it requires to hold our- 
selves unmoved, and, resigning our will to the influence 



DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITIONAL POWER. 367 

of one or other of the desires which play upon it, 
we act accordingly. Or, secondly, the power of 
decision may assume a more positive form. We 
may forcibly keep our attention fixed upon one point, 
in spite of alL distractions, until it fills the field 
of our wishes, and the determination to act follows 
accordingly. Whether the will-force, however, be 
exerted statically or dynamically, in both cases alike 
there must be the power of bringing on a decision 
resting with it, in order that the action pursued may 
bear the stamp of volition ; for, to whatever extent the 
power of decision ceases to exist, and we become the 
play of external influences, the will ceases to bear its 
proper character, and merges into mere instinctive 
action. * 

4. The fourth and last thing necessary to a volitional 
act is the capacity of carrying out the decision arrived at 
by means of the motor mechanism. How, or why, or 
through what inward process, a train of thought can 
affect the nervous centres, so that a corresponding move- 
ment should take place, and a set of nerves and muscles 
be brought into play, of which we know nothing what- 
ever, remains one of the deep mysteries of our existence. 
We know merely that it is so, and that this last 
automatic process is necessary, in order to complete the 
act which the will has already decided upon. Where 
these four elements, therefore, which we have enume- 
rated, combine — i. e., where there is, 1st, intelligence to 
comprehend a purpose ; and plan a course of action 
leading to it ; 2dly, the capacity of balancing motives ; 
3dly, the power of decision ; 4thly, the motor mechanism 

* We shall show in the next chapter how the power of decision 
is logically consistent with the necessity we are nnder of having 
each individual action of our lives determined by what is, pro 
tempore, the strongest motive. 



368 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

standing at the soul's behest, by which the decision can 
be carried out — then, at last, there may be an act which 
can be called purely volitional. Of such a complex nature 
is the human will in its developed state. The only 
element peculiar to it is the active or motor power 
developed through the nervous organization ; the voli- 
tional use of this power being wholly due to the co- 
operation of the intellectual faculties. 

Reason and will, accordingly, can never be disunited. 
The very essence of the will in its higher intensity 
consists in the power we possess of resisting the impor- 
tunity of the passions and desires, and of acting under all 
circumstances according to the determinations of the 
reason. As reason may become perverted, these deter- 
minations may unfortunately be either good or evil; 
and so we may have a strong will, either in the cause of 
right or of wrong. But the essential point remains the 
same. Where the intelligence holds the helm, and the 
actions are determined by it, there we have will, properly 
so called ; and the course by which we come to the 
power of ever following the track which reason points 
out is the course by which the power of the will is 
developed from its first weak and infantile form up to 
the height of what we term an iron resolution. 

Now, then, that we have established a definite idea of 
what we are to understand by the will, and shown that it 
is, not a separate and distinct faculty, but simply a 
mental habitude, by virtue of which we are enabled to 
act in accordance with intelligent purposes, we can trace 
the process by which volitional power, or the power of 
will, is created and matured. To understand this, we 
have merely to go back to the general law of mental 
development. The tissue of our consciousness, as we 
have many times shown, is woven by the accumulation 
of residua, just as that of the body is constructed by the 



DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITIONAL POWER. 369 

histological processes. Moreover, as a large accumula- 
tion of muscular tissue of any particular kind gives 
additional power to the organ, so, to carry on the 
analogy, does a large accumulation of similar residua 
give increased force to any special mental activity. 

The working of this law has been shown abundantly 
in connexion with the development of our intellectual 
powers. It is by the law of similarity (i. e., the com- 
bination of similar residua) that our perceptive power is 
formed and matured. (Part II., Chap. 5.) It is by 
the same law that our ideas blend into generalized forms. 
(Part III., Chap. 3.) It is by the same law, again, that 
we form concepts, and carry on the whole process of 
abstraction and generalization. (Part IV., Chap. 2.) In 
every case there is a separation of dissimilar, and an 
attraction and melting together of similar experiences 
into Generalized or intensified results. 

Now the very same principle as we have seen to be so 
operative in the construction of our intellectual, is equally 
operative in the construction of our active powers. Every 
time we perform a given action, a residuum is left in the 
mind which renders the facility of performing it again, 
and the tendency to do so, the greater. To this fact we 
have already traced the power of habit, and the growth 
of the practical instincts ; and to this same general law 
we shall now be able to trace the further develop- 
ment of the will. 

The law, as applied to human action, may be thus 

stated, — The power and the tendency we possess to follow 

any given course of action is proportional to the 

frequency with which such action has been repeated, and 

the consequent strength of the mental habit ichich is 

formed in this special direction. 

The child in early life has formed as yet no habit 
with regard to his active power; he does, therefore, at 

B ii 



370 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

every moment whatever he feels himself impelled to do 
by the temporary motives and impulses acting upon him. 
If he grows up to do this without any check on the part 
of parental or other authority, the habit soon becomes 
strengthened, residua accumulate in this special direc- 
tion, and control becomes exceedingly difficult. Compare 
this case with a child brought up under stern and 
imperious command. The activity here developed 
assumes quite a different character. In place of following 
his wishes and impulses, as they come and go, he is 
afraid to yield to a single desire ; he is so accustomed 
to repress his own wishes, and act only upon authority 
and command, that all his volitional tendencies are fixed 
in this direction. He will hesitate to do what his own 
feelings prompt ; he will instantly fly to the performance 
of what is sternly enjoined. 

Take another example from the American Indian. In 
ordinary life he is the creature of his impulses and 
passions. He cannot be brought to act upon any intel- 
ligent plan, such as that which civilization imposes, but 
gives himself up mainly to his instincts and appetites. 
This he does not only from habit, but also by virtue of 
residual tendencies which he has inherited from his 
forefathers, and which are so strong that they will often 
break through the influence of education when educa- 
tion has been tried, and impel the youth, when free from 
restraint, back again to his native forests. This very 
same Indian, however, who cannot bear the control of 
civilization, can exercise the most unbending will when 
taken in battle and subjected to torture by his enemies. 
He and his forefathers have learned to look upon endur- 
ance in this respect as a virtue and a necessity ; and, in 
proportion as they have been accustomed to command 
themselves under suffering, they acquire a power of 
volitional restraint through the accumulation of these 



DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITIONAL POWER. 371 

special residua, which more civilized men are wholly 
unable to exhibit. 

By the operation, again, of this same law we have a 
key by which to explain the phenomena of the passions. 
The passions are complex states. They involve, first of 
all, some natural or artificial feeling, which is productive 
of pleasure or gratification. Then, secondly, in order to 
produce this gratification, some act has to be performed 
on our own parts ; which act, thirdly, soon becomes inti- 
mately associated with the pleasure we derive from it. 
Every time this act is performed, and the gratification is 
experienced, a fresh residuum is deposited, and the 
tendency to repeat the action becomes stronger. Thus 
in process of time the craving for the pleasure, and the 
tendency to perform the act which supplies it, become 
so strong that they together overcome the suggestions of 
reason, and get the complete mastery over the will. 

Thus, drunkenness as a passion begins with the 
natural gratification we derive from assuaging our thirst. 
This gratification we* find heightened when what we 
drink has also an exhilarating effect upon the mind. 
The oftener the act of drinking, with a view to this 
exhilaration, is repeated the stronger the tendency 
becomes, by the natural operation of the law we have 
expounded, to do so ; and, at last, when the accumulation 
of residua, which impel us to yield to our craving for 
enjoyment, becomes more powerful than those which 
lead us to follow the decisions of our reason, then 
intemperance triumphs over both our rational nature 
and our will, and renders us absolutely incapable of 
resisting the passion thus gradually acquired. The only 
way by which the drunkard can possibly be reclaimed is 
by withholding the means of gratification until other and 
antagonistic residua can be formed, which abstract 
sufficient force from those in which the passion is seated 

13 13 2 



372 DEVELOPMENT OE THE WILL. 

to enable the reason and the better feelings to recover 
their sway. 

It is not necessary to go through the long catalogue 
of the passions and verify this analysis in each case. 
But if we were to take them all one by one, if we were 
to examine the phenomena actually presented by those 
who are impelled by avarice, ambition, jealousy, love, 
hatred, gambling, &c, we should find that these passions 
all begin in a natural feeling of gratification, and are 
then built up, step by step, by the accumulation of 
residua, which residua become more and more powerful 
in impelling us to action, exactly in proportion as they 
are multiplied by the frequency with which we have 
yielded to the temptation. So strong are these accumu- 
lated influences, that they still prompt us to action in 
the same direction, even when all the freshness and zest 
of the pleasure, which the passion at first afforded, has 
passed away. 

The passions give an intensified power of action, but 
we do not say in this case that *it is strength of will 
which prompts us. We reserve the name of will for 
that whole region of activity in which intelligence, in 
some form or other, is the governing and impelling 
principle. Exactly as we may contract by habit an 
invincible tendency to act with a view to some particular 
gratification, and thus bring ourselves under the domina- 
tion of a ruling passion, so by the very same law we may 
form the habit of always shaping our actions in reference 
to some rational design or purpose. When such a habit 
has been formed, and formed so strongly that every 
impulse, every wish, every temptation, every passion, is 
set aside by the fixed resolution we have made of acting 
not from these, but from a higher motive, then we are 
said to possess a strong will. The development of the 
will, therefore, is simply one particular application of the 



DEVELOPMENT OE VOLITIONAL POWER. 373 

general law — That the accumulation of power in any 
faculty we muy possess, or acquire, is proportional to the 
mass of residua we form of any given character. 

The ordinary process of this development is not very 
difficult to comprehend and describe. Let us go back 
again to the indifferent period of childhood, where the 
active power is lying, as it were, balanced amongst the 
different motives which will soon bear upon it, and 
which will inevitably draw it into some predominant 
direction. We will suppose now that the educating 
influences are favourable. When this is the case, then 
every time that the child is nnduly prompted by passion, 
or selfishness, or indolence, to neglect a duty or commit 
a fault, a salutary restraint is exercised. The necessity 
of subduing the appetites, and the superior excellence of 
actions which are in accordance with rational conviction, 
is first explained, and then firmly enforced. Every 
conquest which is thus gained over a passion or an 
appetite, and every instance in which reason or duty is 
accepted as the guide, strengthen the tendency to follow 
reason and duty in place of mere inclination. What is 
done first, under the pressure of authority and a wise 
compulsion, is soon done from a perception of right, and 
from the habit of being influenced by it. Thus as the 
parental authority is relaxed we transfer our allegiance 
to the more general claims of moral law, and acquire 
the habitude, by the continued observance of this law, to 
act uniformly in accordance with the precepts which it 
enjoins. 

The mere perception of the excellency of the moral 
law, and the great desirableness of acting on it, is not 
enough. Thousands there are who approve one course 
and follow another. Their reason is enlightened en ough 
to see and admire the good, the beautiful, and the true ; 
but the proper volitional residua have not been accumu- 



374 DEVELOPMENT OE THE WILL. 

lated ; or, if accumulated, there are other accumulations 
which impel them to follow certain appetites and 
passions, so as to render their life one perpetual struggle 
between opposing tendencies. Where the mind is the 
theatre of such struggles, we agree in deciding that the 
will is weak. When such struggles cease by the 
conquest of reason and conscience over impulse and 
passion, we agree in saying that the will is strong. 

It is by the consolidation of these habits, finally, that 
the general result is produced which we term character. 
A good or bad character, a weak or strong character, an 
ordinary or extraordinary character, — all these express 
different states into which we are brought, in regard to 
the mode and motives of our action, by means of the 
processes just pointed out. Of course we must take 
into account the hereditary tendencies which may give 
a bias in one or another direction ; but allowing for 
these, the character of each individual is formed by the 
very same law that shapes our active habits, and puts 
the regulation of our practical life at the disposal of 
inclination or reason, of passion, or of moral law. Thus 
from performing the more simple and indifferent actions 
as the result of a conscious purpose, we gradually rise to 
the performance of more important ones ; learn to act on 
a fixed purpose, even when passions and temptations 
draw us in another direction ; give to life itself one great 
purpose, which we ever pursue ; and thus finally form a 
character which may be eternal. 

The education of the will is really of far greater 
importance, as shaping the destiny of the individual, than 
the education of the intellect ; and it should never be 
lost sight of by the practical educator, that it is by 
amassing and consolidating our volitional residua in 
certain given directions that this end can alone be 
secured. Theory, and doctrine, and inculcation of laws 



DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITIONAL POWER. 375 

and propositions, will never of themselves lead to the 
uniform habit of right action. It is by doing, we learn 
to do ; by overcoming, we learn to overcome ; by obeying 
reason and conscience, that we learn to obey ; and every 
right act which we cause to spring out of pure prin- 
ciples, whether by authority, precept, or example, will 
have a greater direct weight in the formation of cha- 
racter than all the theory in the world. 



CHAPTER V. 

ON THE FREEDOM OP THE WILL. 

The substance of the foregoing analysis of the human 
Mali is as follows : — Action is natural to man ; the whole 
structure both of his mind and body proves that he was 
distinctly formed for it. Action begins prior to con- 
sciousness ; and, even after the light of consciousness has 
arisen, there are still many actions which are performed 
unconsciously ; and many others, of which we are indeed 
conscious, but over which we exercise no personal 
control. Next to these mechanical actions come the 
instinctive ones, which spring spontaneously out of some 
natural feeling, and become gradually more and more 
special and determinate, through the influence of the 
circumstances in which we are placed. The actions we 
perform under the impulse of the passions approach very 
near to the instinctive character. Passion, like instinct, 
springs out of a pleasurable feeling, and is only rendered 
imperious and irresistible when the residua which impel 
us to seek the given pleasure become stronger than those 
which urge us to act in accordance with rational motives. 
Lastly, when reason and reflection come in, and either 
determine or modify our actions by the motives they 
present — that is, when the more direct incentives to 
action are superseded, until the understanding has given 
its decision on the case, and this decision is made avail- 
able in determining what course we should pursue ; then, 
at last, our actions are said to be voluntary and free. 



ON THE FREEDOM OF THE WILL. 377 

Thus wtll is simply human activity under the guidance of 
purpose and forethought. 

Reason, however, is not the measure of the will. The 
strength of the one does not depend on the strength of 
the other. The tendency to act on any given principle, 
ceteris paribus, is proportional to the frequency with 
which we have already done so. If we form the habit of 
acting with a view to any personal gratification, until the 
tendency to do so becomes dominant, then we have an 
example of the origin and rise of a dominant passion. If 
we form the habit of acting uniformly according to the 
plan which our intelligence decides to be the best, we are 
said to possess a strong will. But the strength both of 
the passions and will depend alike on the accumulation 
of special motor residua, and the bent which they give to 
our activity. 

This view of the nature and origin of the will would 
seem to bring all human activity under the dominion of 
law ; and, if so, to cut off the possibility of maintaining 
the existence of freedom. We may, indeed, seem to our- 
selves to act freely ; but this, it would appear, is only an 
illusion, which arises from our incapacity of following the 
complicated movements by which the action is really 
decided. 

There is unquestionably an element of truth in this 
view of the question ; but it is not the whole truth. 
Actions looked at objectively, in relation to the mental 
impulses which immediately give rise to them, do 
certainly take place in accordance with certain fixed 
laws. Given, a mind in a certain state, and a certain 
motive acting upon it, and a definite result will assuredly 
take place. We all act towards our fellow- men on the 
conviction of there being such laws to regulate their 
actions • and if we are wrong in calculating what they 
will do, we attribute it not to any arbitrariness in the 



378 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

essence of human nature, but to our own want of know- 
ledge, insight, or sagacity. There is, in fact, no con- 
ceivable possibility of any one acting wholly without a 
motive ; and assuredly we could not attribute a moral 
character to such an action, even if it were possible. The 
question then comes, — How are we able to conserve the 
moral quality of human activity, when it can be argued, 
on the one side, that, if our actions are subject to law 
(i.e., determined by motives) they must be necessary ; 
and, on the other hand, that, if they are performed 
without motive, they can have no ethical character 
whatever? This is the problem which the ordinary 
hypotheses of the necessarian and the libertarian con- 
fessedly leave unsolved ; and as the results of both come 
strongly into conflict with the consciousness which we 
all seem to possess respecting the freedom of our actions, 
and the moral character they derive from such freedom, 
we can hardly fail to conclude that there is some point of 
view in which both theories will blend, and, at the same 
time, become reconcilable with the phenomena of human 
life and consciousness. 

Now, in seeking for this point of view, let us ask, 
first, what the necessarian means by his doctrine of 
moral causation ; whether, in fact, he means anything at 
all contradictory to the common notion of free agency. 
If all our volitions have an objective cause (that is to say, 
a cause not a part of, or dependent upon, ourselves), 
which is certain and unalterable in its effects, then it is 
manifestly impossible to avoid the conclusion that man is 
the subject of an irresistible fate. Every action, it is 
said, is the effect of a volition, but every volition is pro- 
duced by a motive (or, in the language of necessity, a 
cause) over which we have no control ; the inevitable 
conclusion is, that man is as much a machine under the 
effect of motives as a steam-engine is under the impulse 



ON THE FREEDOM OF THE WILL. 379 

of its moving power. This conclusion, too, be it observed, 
applies to mans loliole practical life ; if it be true at all, 
it must be true respecting the whole province of human 
action, because every possible action is the result of some 
motive. The reasoner, therefore, who argues that every 
moral or immoral action which a man commits is neces- 
sary, because certain motives have acted irresistibly upon 
him from without, must accept the full conclusion that 
everything else in human life takes places by a like con- 
straint ; that, by a similar necessity, an agent makes 
clothes, mends shoes, builds houses, lights fires, cooks 
provisions, and does everything else that depends 
upon our so-called voluntary activity. The fatalism here 
involved cannot be met by the plea that the agent in 
question placed himself in the way of circumstances 
which have led him to this or that particular mode of 
life : for, if he did so, it was by means of a volition that 
he did it, a volition which was determined by a previous 
motive. Neither can it be met by the plea that he was 
induced by some other agent to follow one course of 
action or another ; for that agent likewise was the 
creature of fate ; his will to prompt was determined by 
a like necessity ; and the will previous to, and causative 
of that, was determined in the same manner ; so that, 
beginning at any action of any voluntary agent, we may 
go back through a succession of causes, till we come to 
the great First Cause, and thus evolve the idea that the 
whole sum of human actions is one chain of cause and 
effect, absolutely fixed and determined from eternity to 
eternity. 

Now, the philosophical necessarian, we know, shrinks 
from practically accepting that conclusion. He will not 
admit an absolute and fixed necessity, but only a moral 
or philosophical one. Besides, he speaks largely of edu- 
cation, and the importance of remedial means, and the 



380 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

benefit of cultivating the intellectual powers and the 
moral feelings. Moreover, he exhorts his fellow-men, 
on the yery ground of his doctrine of moral causation, to 
get the sources of proper culture for themselves, and to 
put them into the hands of the people at large, as the 
only method of making them virtuous and happy. 
Astounding folly must all that be, if human beings are 
not contingent, if they move in a chain of cause and 
effect from the eternity past to the eternity to come, and 
if all our actions are absolutely determined by what is 
entirely beyond our control ! Exhortation and effort 
must be quite out of place, if the whole sum and sub- 
stance of human life is a necessary chain of this nature ; 
for whatever we may appear to do of our own accord is, 
on this system, but the mockery of a liberty, which we 
seem to possess, but which practises upon us a complete 
and perpetual illusion. This extreme, then, we repeat, 
the philosophical necessarian avoids ; he shrinks back 
from the abyss of fatalism, however strongly his prin- 
ciples may draw him to its brink. 

If, then, the doctrine of necessity, thus modified by 
the term philosophical, does not mean that all human life 
is machinery — that it is a series of fixed results which 
can never be altered, it must admit, in some form and to 
some extent or other, that man is the master and regu- 
lator of his own mind, and has sufficient control over his 
dispositions and actions either to render himself improv- 
able, or to make himself a subject of blame when the 
means of improvement are neglected. Whether improve- 
ment originate in ourselves, or in the influence of 
another, still it originates in man, and equally shows 
him to be, in some sense, a source of moral action. 

Now, let us look for a moment at the libertarian 
hypothesis, and see wherein it differs from the foregoing. 
First and foremost, we find a certain power of self- 



ON THE FREEDOM OF THE WILL. 3 SI 

determining volition asserted — that is, as its opponents 
correctly show, the power of choosing without pre- 
ference, or a choice without choice. The advocates of 
this self-determining power, with all their zeal, can 
never show any decisive cases in which we choose with- 
out being induced by a motive ; they are always obliged, 
for illustration, to have recourse to some altogether insig- 
nificant actions, such as choosing one out of fifty shil- 
lings, which cannot, in the nature of things, have any 
moral quality attached to them ; while, in all the import- 
ant movements of our life — those by which our cha- 
racter is estimated — it is perfectly evident that we do 
and must act under the influence of certain motives. 
The libertarian, in fact, when pushed hard by his oppo- 
nent, is always obliged to concede the point, that motives 
not only have an influence upon us, but do really deter- 
mine our choice in all the great practical affairs of 
human life ; nay, that the existence of a motive is abso- 
lutely necessary to the moral quality of every action ; so 
that we must, after all, admit that man does not act 
ordinarily free from motives, but in strict accordance 
with them. 

Now, let us see in what consists the discrepancy 
between these two antagonist doctrines, when shorn of 
their respective anomalies. The necessarian, if he mean 
anything by prefixing the word philosopJiical to his 
favourite dogma, admits that man is, in some sense, a 
free agent, that he forms plans, that he modifies cha- 
racter, that he acts upon designs which he can carry out 
or suspend ; in one word, that he is all that the liber- 
tarian would contend for, except that his volitions are 
ever determined by the strongest motives, instead of 
determining themselves. On the other hand, the liber- 
tarian, when pressed for his proof of the self-determining 
power, is at a loss to find any decisive actions in which 



382 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

this power exercises itself in opposition to or irrespective 
of every kind of inducement. The only real point of 
dispute left, then, is this : how are we to reconcile that 
power of free and intelligent action, that capacity of 
design, that source of amelioration, or the reverse, which 
all admit to exist within ourselves, with the unquestion- 
able fact, that we ever choose, and must choose, under 
the influence of the strongest inducement? In other 
words, how is qui freedom of choice consistent with the 
necessity of acting from a motive ? 

The whole of the difficulty we now see is traced up to 
the word motive, and therefore it is in the analysis of 
this term that we must look for illumination. What, 
then, is a motive ? Strictly speaking, it is that which 
immediately precedes oar determination to act. That 
which immediately leads to such a determination, how- 
ever, must evidently be an emotion, for it is granted on 
all hands that emotions are the active or impulsive prin- 
ciples of our nature. A motive, therefore, in the proper 
sense of the term, can be nothing else than the mind 
itself in a certain state of feeling ; and, in this view of 
the case, there can be little difficulty in admitting that 
every volition is determined by means of a motive, inas- 
much as this is only another expression for the palpable 
fact just stated, that the mind in a state of emotion is 
ordinarily the immediate antecedent of human action. 
Necessarians are perpetually arguing as though motives 
were objective realities ; whereas, nothing objective can 
possibly have the least power in exciting us to action, 
until it is subjectively combined with some kind of 
desire. Such emotional feeling alone it is which acts as 
a moving power upon the will. 

We see, therefore, at once, if this be true, in what 
manner man, though under the necessity of acting 
in accordance with motives, is yet perfectly free. He 



ON THE FREEDOM OF THE WILL. 383 

cannot, it is true, alter the relation which God has insti- 
tuted between emotions and volitions generally, inas- 
much as that would be to alter the very laws of our 
constitution ; but there are a thousand ways by which 
he modifies his own states of feeling, and through them, 
of course, his volitions also. 

The relation between emotion and volition stands on 
the same footing as that which exists between our per- 
ception of premises and our inferring from them a 
logical conclusion. It is entirely beyond our power to 
refuse a logical conclusion while we have a conviction of 
the truth of the given premises, nor can our belief be 
possibly modified so long as the data remain to us 
unchanged ; but we can easily reconsider those data, 
and then, according as we find them confirmed or 
shaken, we frequently strengthen or subvert our belief 
in the conclusion. Just so, in the other case, while the 
motive remains, the volition must necessarily follow; 
but that motive, we must remember, is a state of mind, 
which we can control by a thousand different methods ; 
and hence, if we can control the motive, through it we 
can control the volition as well. 

But to all this argumentation I am aware the neces- 
sarian opponent might now urge in reply, that the very 
fact of our influencing our own mental states by the 
presentation of fresh motives and inducements to the 
mind, must itself depend upon a volition, which volition 
is determined by a previous motive, and so on, ad infi- 
nitum. It must be remembered, however, that motive 
here means a mental state, and that our mental states 
do not solely depend upon external circumstances, over 
which we have no control, but also upon our own 
spontaneity or personality. If this spontaneity and 
personality be denied as a part of our constitution, and 
man be made wholly dependent upon externals, then 



384 DEVELOPMENT OE THE WILL. 

we must appeal to psychology, for in the psychology we 
start with, the whole question is cradled. The argu- 
ment of the necessarian — that every volition must be 
determined by a previous volition, and so on to infinity, 
will only hold good on the psychological principle, that 
will and desire are the same thing, both equally express- 
ing a passive state into which we are placed by the 
strongest inducement. The psychology which maintains 
this theory starts from sensation, and from it derives all 
the phenomena of the human mind. The mind itself in 
its view is passive ; it is a bare receptacle of impressions 
and feelings, a sheet of blank paper ; and every volition, 
therefore, must on this theory have its cause or con- 
dition out of ourselves. This psychology we have now 
disowned ; we regard it as altogether untenable ; dis- 
proved and exploded by the strictest inductive analysis 
of the facts of our consciousness. 

A close analysis of these facts enables us to detect 
three classes of phenomena in the human mind ; those, 
namely, of intelligence, of feeling, of will — a classification 
to which all modern science is tending. Intelligence 
creates conceptions, laws, rules of action ; feeling supplies 
inducements and impulses ; will creates effort, activity, 
the emission of voluntary power. Between the faculty 
as cause, and the product as effect, there is no inter- 
mediate step. It is no more requisite to ask, loliy will 
produces effort and choice, than to ask, why intelligence 
gives rise to ideas, or sensibility to impulses? The 
supposition that voluntary effort and choice can spring 
causatively from an inducement or external motive is 
the old error of sensationalism invading the theory of 
the will, that, namely, of substituting the occasion for 
the producing cause. The understanding and the feelings 
both present inducements to the will ; and because the 
will follows some or other of them it is supposed to be 



ON THE FREEDOM OF THE WILL. 385 

necessarily determined ; but this is a false conclusion. 
These inducements are but the occasions of our volition ; 
the power which produces them is that original spon- 
taneity, that independent and personal source of action 
which we term "the will" or "the me" and which can react 
upon all the arguments of reason and all the impulses 
of emotion. The will, as an abiding fact in our con- 
stitution, contributes a large element to the formation 
of every motive ; and when the motives are presented, it 
gives the whole nisus, by which volition or choice is 
effected. 

Whenever or wherever power is put forth there must 
be not only an occasion, but also an effort or a spon- 
taneous movement as its cause. Hence all power 
originates in mind (the only spontaneous principle), and 
that either the mind of God or the mind of man ; and 
the very same argument which pretends to prove that 
man is not free, because he chooses from reasons or 
inducements, would also prove that God is not free, 
because He never acts without a plan. If we once give 
up the idea of spontaneity as the spring of effort or 
choice, and account for that effort by the inducement 
alone, nothing can save us from the admission of an 
enormous and iron fatalism to which God and man are 
alike subjected. 

We allow, then, that volitions must necessarily follow 
from motives ; that there is in fact a fixed relation 
between them ; but those motives are subjective states 
of mind, such as dispositions, affections, passions, &c, 
which our intellectual and active natures are adapted by 
their very constitution to develop or to restrain. When, 
therefore, the necessarian enunciates the great truth, 
that no man could have acted differently from what he 
did under the given motives, all that he really expresses, 
if he be not a fatalist, is the commonplace and most 

c c 



386 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

obvious fact, that emotions are active principles of our 
nature, and that we are naturally formed to follow their 
impulse. If he denies that we have any control over 
these inward motives, then all his exhortations to the 
cultivation of the intellect and the feelings are naught 
but folly, and there is no refuge but in complete circum- 
stantial fatalism. We affirm, then, that in principle 
there are only two possible hypotheses respecting liberty 
and necessity ; the one is fatalism, the other is free-will, 
in the sense in which xoe have employed it. 

There is one thing which we freely grant to be fixed 
and necessary on every hypothesis, namely, the relation 
existing between our emotions and our volitions; and 
the philosophical necessarian keeping his eye upon that 
point, has enstamped all volition as constrained, because 
it is always excited by a uniform and definite law of our 
nature : but as well might he call our actions constrained 
also, because they necessarily follow whenever the 
volition dictates and impels. When we see an action 
(unless it be a purely mechanical one) we know that it 
arises from a volition ; and in the same way, when we 
observe, or are conscious of a volition, we know that it 
arises from some desire as its real proximate exciting 
cause ; but behind both these lies the solid basis of 
human liberty, grounded upon that intelligence and 
native activity, which are the indestructible attributes 
of all moral and responsible creatures. 

The truth of the matter may be stated in a very few 
words. Mind is essentially an active principle ; but, 
without reason, its activity would be blind and aimless, 
following the impulses which flow in upon it from with- 
out. In proportion as reason becomes stronger, more 
vast, and more commanding, just in that proportion 
shall we find it regulating and directing our emotions. 
But our emotions are the real motives which excite 



ON THE FREEDOM OF THE WILL. 387 

volition, and volition impels to action ; so that it is in 
the possession of reason that we discover the great 
regulating principle by which our natural activity is 
either restrained or directed, and by which we are 
enabled both to sketch out the designs of our life and to 
pursue them in spite of all the obstacles which may 
stand in our path.* 

The substance of the above analysis was written 
nearly twenty years ago. A very elaborate and in- 
genious work on the same subject has been recently 
published by Mr. Thos. Solly, of Berlin, entitled, " The 
Will, Human and Divine ;" in which the same funda- 
mental view is propounded, and the same solution of 
the problem at once more deeply grounded, and carried 
out into further details. The following is one of the 
passages in which the argument, so far as it relates to 
human freedom, is summed up. 

" The argument, divested of its mathematical dress, 
amounts to this. At any instant of time my action is 
restricted to certain limits by the laws of nature, human 
nature included ; but within them it has free scope by 
virtue of its liberty. This latter is exercised in a certain 
act of self-determination of the subject upon which, as 
will appear afterwards, its relation to the principle of 
moral law depends, and the line of action corresponding 
to the intersection of the two consecutive subjective 
states (i.e., the possible action which is common to the 
two immediate successive postures of character) is the 
result. Let us take an example. The murderer is in 
the presence of his victim, but he still entertains some 
feelings of compunction, and has not yet arrived at that 
culminating point of depravity which is necessary to the 
act. The plane limiting his immediate possible action, 

* The above analysis is abbreviated from the Author's 
" History of Speculative Philosophy in the Nineteenth Century." 

c c 2 



388 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WILL. 

and determined partly by the external circumstances of 
his position, and partly by the internal circumstances of 
his character, is a very bad one ; but still the act of 
murder does not fall within it, and he cannot by a single 
act of will carry out his devilish conception. The 
various directions which his act may take in this plane 
correspond to the variety of thoughts still possible to 
one standing on his moral level. He may encourage 
the slight gleam of good feeling on the one side, or raise 
up visions of gain or gratified revenge on the other. 
By an act of self-determination he assumes a second 
plane of character, slightly inferior to the first. The 
objective act resulting from it must, in the moment of 
transition, be one of the various possible acts conform- 
able to the first posture of character (i.e., it must lie in 
the first plane) ; but it is one of the worst of such acts, 
having been so determined by the vicious direction in 
which the second more degraded plane of character has 
intersected it. In other words, the precise thought, 
which alone is common to the prior character and the 
second assumed state, is the thought which is actually 
chosen. This second state of character, still more 
vicious than the second, also determines the second 
thought, which is perhaps worse than any that was even 
possible in the first state. The self-determinations thus 
continue to succeed each other, each being a function of 
the will and the previous character, and each pair 
determining, by their intersection, the resulting objec- 
tive act ; and, in the case supposed, each act worse than 
the last. Finally, the last state but one contains the 
murder, not perhaps as a point, but subtending a large 
angle of possible action. The last state follows; the 
common thought contains the murderous volition, and 
the fatal act is completed." 

The whole doctrine of this chapter may be summed 



OM THE FREEDOM OE THE WILL. 389 

up in conclusion in a single sentence. Motives deter- 
mine the will, and, so far, the will is not free • but the 
man governs the motives, allowing them a less or a 
greater power of influencing his life ; and, so far, th e 
man is &free agent. 



Our analysis of the nature and development of the 
human will is now complete, and it will be useful to 
recapitulate the chief points w hich have been insisted on 
as explanatory of this part of our mental constitution. 

(1.) Every living organism presents two distinct fea- 
tures, without which its very existence, as such, cannot 
be imagined. These are, first, a certain form or type on 
which it is planned, and into which it always grows ; 
and, secondly, a vital power, which it ever puts forth, to 
maintain, conserve, and develop this, its typal nature. 
Thus, every plant, and every animal, has, on the one 
ha nd, a typal form, and contains, on the other, a prin- 
ciple of life, which reacts upon the surrounding stimuli, 
and enables it to live, grow, and come to perfection. The 
form or idea of the living organism, then, is the analogue 
of the intellect ; the vital power is the analogue of the will. 

(2.) Passing from the province of nature into that of 
mind, we find, accordingly, the same two features re- 
appearing on a higher platform. The rudimentary form 
of the human intelligence is seen in sensation and per- 
ception, in which the mind first begins to deal with 
the objects of nature as material of knowledge ; the 
rudimentary form of the will is seen in the motor-power 
and the primordial instincts, in which we begin to deal 
with the objects of nature as material for action. From 
the first feeble efforts of intelligence, as seen in our 
primary perceptions, the mind grows up through series 
of stages to the highest exercise of reason ; and, from 
the first feeble reaction of the motor mechanism, the will 



390 DEVELOPMENT OE THE WILL. 

grows up through a like ascending series to the highest 
exercise of its free agency. 

(3.) The steps which the growth of our active powers 
passes through are the following : — First, the response 
of the motor-nerves to the external stimuli affecting them 
at any of the extremities, or reflex-action. Secondly, 
activity under the form of instinct — activity, that is, 
which is initiated and guided by our natural desires or 
physical necessities, without any conscious plan or pre- 
determination. And, thirdly, activity, which, however 
excited, is kept under the control of our reason, and thus 
made to conform to certain conscious ends or purposes. 

(4.) The law which regulates the amount of our voli- 
tional power we found in that universal principle of 
mental growth, according to which the strength of any 
special faculty is seen to be proportional to the re- 
sidua which are accumulated in this particular direc- 
tion. The more frequently we perform an action from 
any particular motive, the stronger the tendency becomes 
for us to continue to do so. We say that a man pos- 
sesses a strong will when he has acquired by habit the 
power of making his actions conform to his rational pre- 
determinations, in spite of all the incentives presented 
by the desires or passions. The amount of our volitional 
power, accordingly, is proportional to the habit of self- 
control. 

(5.) Lastly, we say that an action is free, when it is pre- 
arranged by an intelligent purpose, and its execution can 
be either suspended or carried out according to our per- 
sonal determination. Freedom does not, therefore, con- 
sist in acting without motives ; but in the power we 
possess of modifying our motives, and either elevating or 
depressing the moral plane of our voluntary activity. 
Thus we have a foundation on which human responsi- 
bility and practical morality can alike be securely based. 



PART VII. 



ON THE FEELINGS. 



CHAPTER I. 

HISTORICAL NOTICE ON THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
THE FEELINGS. 



We come now to a branch of Psychology which is 
peculiarly obscure, and has consequently, hitherto, rarely 
been treated in a comprehensive and thoroughly scientific 
manner. Every one knows what feeling or emotion is, 
— viewed as a fact of his own personal experience ; but 
how it arises, of what elements it consists, what relation 
it bears to the understanding and what to the will — 
these are points which have not yet been made, by any 
means, sufficiently plain, and which still lie open to 
much renewed investigation. 

In the ancient psychology, from Aristotle downwards, 
the phenomena of the human mind were divided ordi- 
narily into two great classes, namely, the intellectual 
powers, and the appetites ; the latter member of which 
included everything which we now express by the terms 
will, desire, and passion. This twofold classification 
remained in force through the scholastic ages, and has 
come down with the weight of all the authority which 
antiquity can give, even to recent times. 

Amongst modern philosophers who have adopted this 
twofold division, there are some who unite the feelings, 
as subordinate phenomena, to the intellectual side, and 
others who unite them to the will. Thus, Wolf, who 
represents the current mental philosophy of Germany in 
the middle of the last century, regarded feeling as a dim 



394 ON THE FEELINGS. 

and indistinct kind of intelligence, and attributed all 
that is peculiar in it, over and above this, to the relation 
which it bears to pleasure and pain, to good or to evil. 
This Wolfian theory was adopted, with some modifica- 
tions, by Hegel and his school. Hegel terms feeling, 
" das dumpfe Weben cles Geistes in sich," an un- 
translatable expression, which Waitz pronounces to be a 
" stumpfe Me tap her." The general Hegelian idea, how- 
ever, is plain enough, namely, that feeling represents 
the crude and infantile state of the mind (a state 
analogous to chaos in relation to the world), in which no 
perceptions, ideas, or concepts have yet come to a full, 
clear, and distinctive form. This Hegelian theory, 
though it fits very well into the dialectic process by 
which the mind is construed and explained in that 
school of philosophy, yet does not cohere by any means 
so closely with the facts of our mental experience. 
Various feelings do indeed accompany our perceptions 
and ideas, through all their developments, under certain 
circumstances hereafter to be defined ; but the whole 
history of the intellect, from the crudest and most in- 
distinct commencements, can be traced regularly upwards 
in its growth and development, without ever passing 
through any stage which can be strictly termed emotional. 
All ideas, notions, concepts, however indistinct or im- 
perfect, must have some specific object, some material 
independent of the mental conditions, under which they 
are viewed. An idea which has no object would be a 
nonentity. But there are many of the emotions which 
have no specific object at all. Feelings, like expectation, 
impatience, ennui, &c, are purely subjective states, which 
have no sort of resemblance to a dim idea. If, while in 
such a state, we fix our minds upon any object of 
contemplation, however indistinct, the emotional con- 
dition merges at once into an intellectual one. This 



THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE FEELINGS. 395 

fact, we shall hereafter see, draws a clear line of separa- 
tion between the essential characteristics of an idea and 
an emotion. The one is bound to a specific object, the 
other is not. 

In this country it has been more common to classify 
the emotions amongst the phenomena of the will. Reid 
includes all our mental faculties under the two heads of 
intellectual and active powers ; and then, having made 
this twofold division, he classes under the latter all the 
emotions, on the ground of their being principles which 
lead directly to action. Here, however, there is a 
manifest confusion " in limine." The power of action, 
whether mechanical or volitional, is one thing, the motive 
which leads to it is another. It does not follow that, 
because a particular mental state leads or impels us to 
action, it is, therefore, in itself, of a volitional character. 
Peelings are, in fact, of all our mental states, the very 
furthest removed from volition. They are passive in 
their nature ; they come upon us without any effort of 
our own ; their whole course is marked with the most 
perfect spontaneity ; we find ourselves often unable to 
control them, either in regard to their existence, intensity, 
duration, or extinction. On every ground we are led, by 
the phenomena of the case, to separate them from the 
whole region of volition, however often they may serve 
as the moving power by which the will is prompted to 
activity. 

The distinction which subsists between intelligence 
and feeling, on the one side, and volition and feeling on 
the other, has gradually, indeed, become so well defined, 
that, if we regard the psychology of the nineteenth 
century, whether in Germany, France, or England, we 
find that the great weight of authority goes in the direc- 
tion of separating our mental phenomena into these 
three distinct classes. 



396 ON THE FEELINGS. 

The first well-defined enunciation of this threefold 
classification is due to the genius and penetration of 
Kant. Both in his " Criticism of the Judging Faculty " 
and in his " Anthropology " he has pointed out the vast 
role which is played by the emotions in the whole 
economy of human nature, and has placed them, ac- 
cordingly, in complete co-ordination with the intellectual 
and the volitional powers. 

In looking attentively, however, through the views 
and reasonings of those psychologists who adopt this 
threefold division of the mental phenomena, we find 
that there are some who simply assume the three 
provinces of intelligence, feeling, and will as springing 
out of three ultimate and irreducible powers of mind, 
and others who either develop one series of phenomena 
out of the rest, or all of them alike out of certain more 
fundamental and primitive laws of mental activity. 

Amongst those who assume three distinct and primi- 
tive powers, we may mention, first, the principal psy- 
chologists of the French Eclectic School, with M. Cousin 
at their head. These writers, as a rule, lay down three 
fundamental facts of mind, namely, intelligence, sensi- 
tivite, and volonte, as the great starting-points of all psy- 
chological investigation, and upon this foundation they 
have reared a system of mental philosophy, which, if 
not as deep in its analysis as some others, yet presents 
no palpable deficiency in its conclusions and results. 
M. Garnier adds the faculte motrice to the other three, 
but this addition arises manifestly from want of follow- 
ing up his analysis of the will to its origin in the 
primordial facts of instinctive activity. 

In our own country, the co-ordinate threefold division 
we are speaking of claims the high authority of Sir W. 
Hamilton, who has clearly distinguished them from each 
other, with his usual logical ability, under the names of 



THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE FEELINGS. 397 

cognition, conation, and feeling. In the phenomena of 
cognition, he shows, consciousness distinguishes the 
object known from the subject knowing ; in the phe- 
nomena of feeling, on the contrary, consciousness does 
not perform this act of separation, but both the subject 
and object are, as it were, fused into one, we ourselves 
being, in this case, the objects of our own immediate 
consciousness ; in the phenomena of conation there is, 
as in those of cognition, a separate object, and this 
object is also an object of knowledge ; but there is also 
an impulse, which results in an endeavour either to 
obtain the object or ward it off. He adds, however, 
that, " although in theory the feelings are thus to be 
discriminated from the desires and volitions, they are 
not to be considered as really divided." Both are con- 
ditions of, perhaps, all our mental states ; and while the 
cognitions go principally to determine our speculative 
sphere of existence, the feelings and conations more 
especially concur in regulating our practical life. 

Let us turn next to those psychologists who do not 
regard the feelings as being simple and primitive facts of 
mind, but who explain them by means of some complex 
process. Schleiermacher held a peculiar theory on the 
subject. He defines feeling as " the identity of thought 
and volition" — the transition point in which thinking 
passes over to activity. In thinking, we bring, as it 
were, the existence of things without us home to our own 
inward consciousness ; in acting, we carry our own exist- 
ence out of ourselves, and impress it upon the objects 
around us. The negative point between these two con- 
trary activities produces feeling. Most persons, we 
imagine, in this country would not fail to view this as an 
over-refined speculation, not of much practical value to 
psychological science, although there is much which can 
be said speculatively in its favour. 



398 ON THE FEELINGS. 

If we come to the more recent English writers on 
mental philosophy, we find a very considerable diversity 
of opinion respecting the nature and origin of the 
emotions. Mr. James Mill, in his " Analysis of the 
Human Mind," maintains the theory, that the emotions 
are simply the recollections and ideas of sensational 
pleasure or pain, which has been actually experienced. 
" The term, idea of a pleasure/' he remarks, " expresses 
precisely the same thing as desire, and the idea of pain 
the same thing as aversion!' 

This whole theory, which is based upon the ultra- 
sensational view of mental phenomena, is altogether 
unsatisfactory. For, let it be observed, 1st, that a 
sensation can never be revived. When it is once passed, 
it is gone for ever, and can only be renewed by our 
being again placed under the same physical condition. 
We may remember the fact that we have been the 
subjects of particular sensations, either pleasurable or 
painful ; but the idea we thus revive has no kind of 
similarity with the sensation itself, nor does it at all 
necessarily involve any emotional element whatever. We 
may think with perfect calmness of our past pleasures 
and pains ; and, so far from the idea of suffering being 
always an unpleasant state of mind, it is frequently quite 
the. contrary. 

" Hsec olim meminisse juvabit." 

The memory of our past misfortunes may be pro- 
ductive of the liveliest pleasure, while the memory of our 
past joys may occasion equal regret. 

2dly. If Mr. Mill's theory, that the idea of a pleasure 
is an emotion, be correct, then the clearer and more 
vivid that idea, the more potent ought to be the emotion. 
The relation between an idea and an emotion, however, 
is just the reverse. The more the mind becomes intel- 
lectually occupied with an object, though that object 



THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE FEELINGS. 399 

should be our own joys and sorrows, the more the 
emotional state subsides ; while the tension and ebulli- 
tion which is characteristic of every powerful emotion is 
wholly incompatible with any clearly realized idea. 

The young soldier, when he first stands against 
bayonet points, and hears the bullets whistling around 
him, is full of fearful emotions, though he has a very 
indistinct idea of all the suffering attendant on war. 
The veteran who knows and has experienced that 
suffering in all its bitterness, goes to battle without any 
emotional excitement at all. There is mental tension, in 
the one case, over and above all the ideas of pain which 
may exist in the mind, and no mental tension in the 
other ; and this forms precisely the difference between a 
state of strong emotion and a state of cahn indifference. 

3dly. Mr. Mill's theory overlooks the speciality of 
emotional sensibility. It reduces the whole to the form 
of an idea, that idea having pleasure or pain for its 
object. But the emotions involve mental phenomena 
which are essentially distinct either from an idea, or 
from any mere bodily sensation. Hilarity, on the one 
side, and depression on the other, can very well exist 
where there is no idea in the mind as to their cause, and 
no reference whatever to any past experiences of sorrow 
or of joy. It is, in fact, the speciality observable in the 
varied forms of emotional sensibility, which is left alto- 
gether unaccounted for by any theory which resolves it 
into the simple elements of ideas, on the one side, and of 
physical pleasure and pain on the other. 

Dr. Carpenter, in the earlier editions of his " Human 
Physiology," propounded, from the physiological point of 
view, a theory of the emotions, in many respects similar 
to that of Mr. Mill. " Just as the simple feelings of 
pleasure and pain," he remarks (" Human Physiology," 
4th Edition, p. 784), " are associated with particular 



400 ON THE FEELINGS. 

sensations, the same feelings connect themselves with 
particular ideas, and thus are produced those emotional 
states of mind which directly or indirectly determine a 
great part of our habits of thought, and are largely con- 
cerned in the government of conduct/' 

According to this view, emotion is simply a specific 
idea, with the feeling of sensorial pleasure or pain con- 
nected with it. This view has been contested by Dr. 
Noble, in his work on " The Human Mind, in its rela- 
tion with the Brain and Nervous System." * He has 
there shown with great clearness, that emotional sensi- 
bility is not of a quasi-physical character ; that it is not 
dependent on any of those causes which operate in con- 
nexion with purely sensorial phenomena; that, so far 
from this, it may be lowered by superinducive bodily 
sensation ; that it stands not unfrequently in clear anta- 
gonism to ordinary sensibility ; and that it produces its 
own peculiar reactions, through the muscular system, dis- 
tinct from the consensual movements. Hence he considers 
that, for this most elevated and specific order of sensi- 
bility, there must be proper ganglia within the 
encephalon ; and suggests that these may be the so- 
called optic thalami and the corpora striata — structures 
which lie immediately beneath the cerebral hemispheres, 
and form the floor of the lateral ventricle. This view 
he confirms by a good many facts and considerations 
which have come under his own observation, and con- 
cludes that there is a large body of evidence to show the 
fundamental distinctness of sensational and emotional 
sensibility. 

Dr. Noble still further develops his argument in a sub- 
sequent chapter on the emotions and their composition. 
" Any account," he remarks, " which represents the 
emotions as merely the pleasure or pain which 

* London : Churchill. 1858. 



THE PSYCHOLOGY OE THE FEELINGS. 401 

accompanies certain intellectual states constitutes a very 
incomplete description. I think it will be conceded, 
upon reflection, that we must admit the specifically 
distinct character of our varying states of consciousness 
as recognised in hope, fear, grief, pride, vanity, love, and 
other such inward experiences. It is quite certain that 
we feel in a characteristic manner under the varying 
circumstances of our intellectual states, quite irrespective 
of the pleasure or the pain which may accompany them. 
Pear is fear, and need not be exclusively pleasurable or 
painful ; love is love, and is only pleasurable under suit- 
able circumstances ; grief, sometimes, is a l silent 
luxury,' though ordinarily a poignant suffering. Such 
psychical states as love, hatred, desire, aversion, joy, 
sadness, despair, fear, audacity, courage, and so on, in 
limitless variation, are modifications, I submit, of emo- 
tional sensibility, very generally provoked by thought, 
but still separable from thought ; such modifications, 
moreover, being distinguishable amongst each other, 
regarded simply as feeling. So little, indeed, does 
emotion consist of mere pleasure or mere pain, and so 
obviously does it include numerous and varied modes of 
feeling, that, as in the case of external sensation, several 
kinds of emotion may be present to the consciousness at 
the same time. 

" My meaning, however, with respect to varieties of 
emotional sensibility, will be somewhat plainer if I cite 
still more particularly the analysis afforded by external 
sensation. Hot and cold, hard and soft, moist and dry, 
as sensations, are distinguishable conscious experiences, 
produced by the qualities of objects, but, in themselves, 
subjective states, pleasurable, painful, or neutral, as 
the case may be ; and so with other kinds of sensational 
experience. The sense of taste supplies, probably, the 
most complete and readily-seized analogy to the sensi- 

D D 



402 ON THE FEELINGS. 

bility which we denominate emotion. Thus, sweetness 
is commonly pleasurable ; to some persons, however, it 
is painful; and to others, again, it is neither the one 
nor the other. In some instances it is pleasurable, 
painful, and neutral at different epochs of life; but at 
all times, and under all circumstances, sweetness is 
sweetness. In fine, gustatory, like emotional impres- 
sions, are sources of pleasure and pain ; they have 
always, however, a very distinct character about them, 
and they would be but very imperfectly described in 
being designated the pleasure and the pain resulting 
from contact of the tongue and palate with sapid 
particles. 

"In a somewhat analogous manner, I maintain that 
emotion, experienced either as a sentiment, affection, or 
passion, consists, in so far as it is a feeling, of varying 
conditions of that inward sensibility which I have de- 
scribed under the designation of ccensesthesis. Particular 
kinds of emotion, though usually determined by the 
presence of correlative ideas, may yet be conceived, and, 
indeed, be experienced, in their absence, or prior to 
them. For example, when a huge watch- dog loudly 
and unexpectedly barks, I start, from an emotion of 
fear, which distinctly precedes the idea of danger, the 
feeling and thought being quite separable. ' Gratitude,' 
says Dr. Thos. Brown, 'is distinguishable from the 
memory of kindness received.' " (Op. cit., pp. 130 — 4.) 

These remarks of Dr. Noble seem to me quite con- 
clusive as to the main burden of his argument; that, 
namely, which points to the existence of a large class of 
mental phenomena, termed by him forms of emotional 
sensibility, and the clear separation of these phenomena 
from those of mere pleasure and pain, however modified 
by concurrent ideas. Indeed, Dr. Carpenter, in the 
fifth and latest edition of his " Human Physiology," 



THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE FEELINGS. 403 

acknowledges the full force of Dr. Noble's analysis, and 
expresses his indebtedness to it for having led him to 
the " extension of his notion of those states of feeling 
which constitute the essence of e?notionfrom that of mere 
pleasure and pain (to which he had previously limited 
them) to more varied forms of emotional sensibility." 
With regard to the physiological question respecting the 
ganglionic site of emotional sensibility, any present 
views can hardly be regarded as more than an hypothesis, 
which it will depend upon future investigations to confirm 
or refute, as the case may be. And, indeed, Dr. Noble 
has only offered his own suggestion as a rational con- 
jecture. 

So far, then, we may regard the analysis of the 
emotions to have proceeded with a tolerably conclusive 
degree of evidence. It has been made clear that there 
is a special class of mental phenomena which cannot be 
accounted for by regarding them either as any modifica- 
tion of an idea, or as any form of mere sensorial 
pleasure and pain, or as any combination of these two 
elements into one. We know, with an approach to 
certainty, what emotional sensibility is not, but we have 
not yet learned from any of our physiological observers 
what it is. I mean, it has yet to be seen what relation 
the emotions hold to the ideas, how or under what 
circumstances they originate, and by what laws their 
development is regulated. This is the point, therefore, 
which next claims our attention, and to this analysis we 
have to proceed in the next chapter. 



D I) 



CHAPTER II. 
NATURE AND ORIGIN OF THE FEELINGS. 



The word feeling, as used in popular language, is 
indefinite. Originally it was applied simply to one of 
the five senses, namely, the sense of touch. But as the 
phenomena of this sense are, for the most part, dis- 
tinguished by the two characteristics of pleasure and 
pain, the term feeling came, after a time, to be applied 
to any mental states whatever, that are of a pleasurable 
and painful character. Thus, the same word, which 
was at first used merely to designate a certain external 
and sensational phenomenon, came gradually to desig- 
nate all that immense variety of internal states which 
bear upon them an emotional character. 

In entering upon the region of the feelings, we are 
embarrassed, at the outset, by the endless variety of 
phenomena which come under this category. We all 
know what the term itself implies, as a matter of 
personal experience ; but that term, for all this, does 
not present a perfectly clear and definite idea to the 
mind. The prick of a pin ; the joy of the traveller on 
his return ; the ecstasy of the lover ; the grief of the 
bereaved parent ; the sympathy of friendship ; the sense 
of beauty and goodness ; the warmth of devotion ; the 
pride of the scornful ; the hatred of the injured, and a 
thousand other phenomena, are all alike denoted by the 
one term, feeling. How, then, are we to find a 
definition which will include these heterogeneous phe- 



NATURE AND ORIGIN OP THE FEELINGS. 405 

noniena ? and what is the common element which runs 
through numberless states of mind, so utterly different 
one from another ? Until we know this, we cannot be 
said to have raised the phenomena of feeling from a 
personal experience into the clear light of a reflective 
idea. 

Most of the systems of mental philosophy which have 
been current both here and elsewhere have either con- 
tented themselves with merely enumerating the phe- 
nomena of feeling, without explaining their nature and 
origin, or have given explanations which are not suffici- 
ently clear and comprehensive. Some of those explana- 
tions we have already noticed ; and in no instance have 
we been able to pronounce any one free from defect, or 
capable of fully accounting for the facts which the case 
itself presents. In the more recent psychological efforts 
of Germany, the question of the nature and origin of 
the feelings has been pursued with better results ; and, 
guided mainly by these, we shall now attempt to analyze 
the phenomena which they, as a whole, present, and 
try if we can so far strip away all that is accidental as to 
lay bare the great generic law by virtue of which they 
originate and exist. 

To do this let us first consider the relation in which 
the feelings stand to ideas. Can it be said that a feeling 
is an idea, only with a certain peculiarity attached to it ? 
In other words, can the definition of an idea be shown 
in any sense to comprehend the emotions as well ? The 
essential characteristic of an idea, on whatever degree of 
generality it may stand, is, that it presents a separate 
object of contemplation, which the mind distinguishes 
completely from itself as the subject. In every idea 
there must be this duality, viz., the subject which per- 
ceives or observes, and the object which is perceived or 
observed. Failing in this, no idea can possibly exist, for 



406 ON THE FEELINGS. 

the idea of nothing is equivalent to no idea. Now, in 
the case of feeling or emotion this duality entirely ceases. 
It is true we often say, I feel a pin, or a knife, or a 
chair, or a table ; but it is evident that the term feeling 
here is simply used for the perception of the object 
which we acquire by one of the senses. Taking the 
term feeling, as we now do, to designate the sensibility 
itself, and not the intellectual process connected 
with it, we at once see that the object forms no part 
of the phenomenon. Still more evidently is this 
the case when we come to the emotions, properly so 
called — those higher states with which we have especially 
to do in the present chapter. Here the stronger the 
feeling, the more we lose sight of the object which 
originated it as a distinct idea. In many cases, indeed, 
the swell of feeling will remain, even when memory has 
wholly lost sight of the cause ; and we are conscious of 
depression or exhilaration, as the case may be, without 
our knowing at all how to account for it. What we 
are really conscious of, in every case of feeling or emotion, 
is our own peculiar state for the moment, whether affected 
bodily or mentally. In this state of consciousness, the 
subject that feels, and the object felt, fall together. We 
feel, but we feel only our own states. We may safely 
conclude, therefore, that a feeling is fundamentally 
distinct from an idea, and that they cannot possibly be 
brought as specific mental phenomena under the same 
definition. 

But now we must take another thing into account, 
namely this, — that if emotion cannot be in any way 
subordinated to the nature of an idea, yet it can never exist 
altogether without ideas. There may, indeed, be physical 
excitement produced by external or internal stimulants, 
i.e., by quickening in any way the circulation of the 
blood and the play of the lungs ; but how could we be 



NATURE AND ORIGIN OF THE FEELINGS. 407 

said to be the subjects of joy or sorrow, of love or envy, 
or any other purely emotional feeling, unless there were 
a substratum of intelligence, out of which they might 
spring? We can, therefore, draw this further conclu- 
sion, that though emotions are not ideas, yet ideas are 
always in some way present whenever they originate; 
that the one series of states accompanies the other ; and 
that there is an oscillation, as it were, always going on 
between the ideal and the emotional form of our mental 
activity, whenever feeling comes prominently into play. 

If we summon up our powers of memory, and try to 
recall what passed within us at periods when we have 
been the subjects of strong emotional feelings, we shall, I 
think, recognise something of the following nature. 
The emotional state commenced with seeing, hearing, or 
in some way coming to the knowledge of a fact, which 
affects our personal interests ; it took its rise therefore 
not from a single idea, but from a complex intellectual 
process — from a consciousness of the relation which some 
event holds directly to our own welfare, or (what is the 
same thing) to the power it possesses of producing in 
us an agreeable or disagreeable condition of mind. 
This is obviously the case whenever we feel fear, or joy, 
or grief, or expectation, &c. None of these or similar 
emotions could arise without the knowledge or belief 
of a fact, and without the consciousness of this fact 
having some relation to our happiness or unhappiness, 
pleasure or pain, either in the present, the past, or the 
future. This is the starting point of the phenomenon ; 
but then this complex intellectual process, to which we 
allude, lies, as it were, outside of and apart from the 
emotion itself. So soon as the emotion begins to rise 
and sw T ell, we are conscious of a number of cognate 
ideas chasing each other in rapid succession through the 
mind, and ever and anon bringing back some central 



408 ON THE FEELINGS. 

idea, around which all the others seem to cluster. 
Suppose we are going to submit to some painful opera- 
tion, or experience some other event, to which we look 
forward with fear, dread, and dismay. What does our 
past experience testify as to the kind of mental process 
which goes on ? We find, if I mistake not, that the 
mind cannot fix its attention on any one point. It 
wanders over all the circumstances attending the 
dreaded event. Ideas and imaginations succeed in 
rapid course, — there is a coming and a going, a struggle 
and a tension, amongst them. No sooner is one upper- 
most than another seizes upon the fancy, and all circu- 
late in perpetual unrest around a central point, in which 
the whole of the fear or dread seems to be concentrated. 
The same phenomenon is observable in all the other 
kinds of emotion, in joy, expectation, love, hatred, envy, 
revenge, &c. ; in every case alike there is the same 
struggle and tension of ideas, and the same restlessness 
and impetuosity in their passage through the conscious- 
ness. 

We can advance, then, now one step further in our 
analysis and remark, that the emotions do not necessarily 
depend upon the special matter of our ideas, but that 
they do greatly depend upon the precise manner in 
which those ideas come and go, and struggle together, 
and pursue each other through the mind. This conclu- 
sion may be easily tested by any number of individual 
cases. Thus, expectation does not in the slighest degree 
depend upon the speciality of the thing expected. A 
hundred or thousand different ideas, or rather intel- 
lectual processes, may give rise to it ; but in every case 
there is this point of uniformity, that the mind is in a 
state of tension between the present and the future — 
between the present in which we are and the future in 
which we wish to be. And this state of tension is pro- 



NATURE AND ORIGIN OF THE FEELINGS. 409 

duced, as we just showed, by the struggle of certain 
ideas to be uppermost; by the forcible attempt to 
repress the present and to realize the future ; and by the 
vigour with which both in succession maintain their 
hold upon the consciousness of the moment. In like 
manner remorse arises from the tension between the 
present and the past, i.e., between the moral state of the 
moment and the contrary memories of the time gone by, 
which will not harmonise, but struggle against each 
other to possess the consciousness and determine the 
state of the will. We need not go through a number of 
separate instances to illustrate the point on which we 
are now insisting. In most cases it will be found that 
the emotive condition is connected not with the special 
matter of the ideas, which give rise to it, but to the 
mode in which they flow through the consciousness. In 
other words, it arises from the tension of our ideas, 
according as they bear upon our interests, whether for 
good or evil. 

Now let us translate this explanation into the technical 
language of mental physiology, as we have explained it 
in the former parts of this work. According to this 
view of our mental nature and development, every 
individual experience leaves a residuum which is free 
either to remain separately in the mind, as a distinct 
tendency, or to blend with other similar residua; or, 
lastly, to enter into combination with dissimilar ones, and 
thus form associations of ideas. These residua, we say, 
are subject to mutual actions and reactions ; and when 
any one succeeds in maintaining itself against all oppos- 
ing forces, and in thus occupying and filling the con- 
sciousness of the moment, we are said to recall the idea, 
of which it was previously merely the relic. This whole 
theory (if theory indeed it should be called) supposes a 
large amount of activity to underlie the consciousness ; 



410 ON THE FEELINGS. 

for in speaking of the struggle of residua one against 
the other, or of their mutual blen dings and combinations, 
we are pointing out processes of which we merely see 
the results in the changes which silently take place in 
our thoughts and associations ; just as we know nothing 
of the process of nerve-formation in the body, but only 
find out the results by increased power and facility in 
the organs. 

At the same time, there is no reason why this internal 
struggle of residua should be wholly unaccompanied by 
consciousness ; the most obvious conclusion we should 
come to from the nature of the case is, that in instances 
where the struggle and tension become violent, we ought 
to become conscious of it as an internal state ; and that 
the residua themselves which are engaged in this strife 
would pass rapidly in and out of consciousness, accord- 
ing as one or the other obtained a temporary predo- 
minance in the mind. Employing, therefore, this 
phraseology, we should explain emotion to be the 
consciousness we possess of the internal tension or 
struggle of our mental residua, as occasioned by the 
knowledge we gain of circumstances which directly affect 
us either for good or evil. 

And this brings us to the next point — namely, the 
relation which emotion bears to the will. In all the 
intellectual processes, of whatever kind, the mind's chief 
attention is fixed upon the object ; in the case of the 
emotions, the object is lost sight of, and the direct 
material which occupies the consciousness is, the various 
states and affections of the subjects. In other words, 
when we are the subjects of any kind of feeling, we no 
longer look out of ourselves, but inwardly at our own 
being. And as it is with the various phases of pleasure 
and pain, of the agreeable and the disagreeable, that the 
emotions are directly conversant, what we have parti- 



NATURE AND ORIGIN OF THE FEELINGS. 411 

cularly in view, is our well-heing on the one side, and our 
ill-being on the other. 

This statement of the case will become more clear 
if we consider what pleasure and pain are — what they 
arise from, and what they indicate. The theory of plea- 
sure and pain has occupied the attention of psychologists 
from the earliest times, and has more especially been 
treated by Aristotle amongst the ancients, by Kant 
amongst the moderns, and, more recently, in our own 
country, by Sir W. Hamilton. The view taken by all 
these mental analysts is fundamentally the same. It 
starts with the almost obvious statement, that life con- 
sists in the development of a certain system of energies. 
So long as these energies are in full play, life is in full 
vigour; so soon as anything occurs to diminish their 
force or impede their progress, then health is lost, and 
death will eventually ensue. Whatever, then, tends 
to keep up the vital energies to a proper state of tension 
produces a feeling which we call pleasure ; and whatever 
tends either to resist and impede them, or to drive them 
to excess, produces a feeling which we caWpain. Thus, 
nutritious food, fresh air, cheerful society, everything 
that promotes bodily health, is accompanied with a feel- 
ing of enjoyment ; on the contrary, deleterious food, bad 
air, disease of any kind, mutilations of, or injuries to 
the bodily system, and everything which interferes with 
the play of the vital forces, either generally or locally, is 
accompanied with pain. The taking of stimulating 
drinks is at first accompanied with pleasure, because 
it excites the vital force ; but it is afterwards followed 
by pain, because it over-stimulates them, and thus at 
last produces injury. Hence, then, pleasure is connected 
with a state of well-being, and pain with a state of 
ill-being ; and the feelings which we term pleasure and 
pain are simply the consciousness we possess of the 



412 ON THE FEELINGS. 

particular physical and organic condition in which we 
are for the time existing. 

Now, pleasure and pain, as affecting the organism, is 
the direct analogue of the agreeable and the disagreeable 
as felt in the purely mental emotions ; and the cause of 
the latter is precisely similar to that of the former. Life 
in the higher sense — the life of the soul — consists in 
the development of a system of mental energies. All 
our happiness is derived from the proper and adequate 
play of these energies ; unhappiness arises, on the 
other hand, either if they are deprived of excitement, or 
over-stimulated to weariness and excess. 

Those facts, events, or ideas, which, when brought 
home to the consciousness, tend to stimulate the mental 
energies in a healthy and adequate manner, give rise to 
what we term pleasurable emotions • those, on the 
other hand, which tend to depress the mental energies, 
or to over-stimulate them, give rise to what we term 
painful emotions. Hence, as before, the two different 
kinds of emotions are simply the consciousness of our 
mental well-being or our mental ill-being ; and both the 
one and the other are evinced by the hurried, irregular, 
and spasmodic flow of our ideas, or, rather, the residua 
of our ideas, through the consciousness. Just as the 
quickened pulse, irregular circulation, and spasmodic 
efforts of the vital powers indicate an exceptionably plea- 
surable or a painful state of the bodily organization ; so 
does the irregular and extraordinary flow of the mental 
life, of the current of ideas through the consciousness, 
indicate emotive conditions, in which we are either 
exhilarated by what is agreeable, on the one side, or 
weighed down by what is disagreeable, on the other. 

From these considerations, we see that the feelings 
occupy a middle position between the intellect and the 
will. The ideas of the intellect, as such, have no 



NATURE AND ORIGIN OF THE FEELINGS. 413 

direct tendency to influence the will. They are simply 
mental representations or abstractions, which occupy the 
consciousness of the moment contemplatively, and then 
pass away to make room for others of the same kind. 
But many ideas, or combinations of ideas, are repre- 
sentations of facts which stand in close relation to our 
own interests. Thus, the death of an individual, as 
a mere thought, does not necessarily affect us in any 
other way than by the mere presentation of the fact to 
the consciousness. But the fact may involve very much 
more than it actually affirms. It may involve trouble, 
anxiety, poverty, the rupture of old associations, the 
crushing of tender affections, the vacuity and desolation 
of a life robbed of one of its greatest sources of enjoy- 
ment. All these things bear directly upon our own 
being, both bodily and mental ; and the consciousness of 
this causes a rapid flow of ideas through the mind, 
a struggle and tension in our thoughts, which appears 
in the form of some emotion — it may be grief, sorrow, 
despair — according to the particular kind of interests 
which are affected and disturbed. 

Nothing is more common than to see men entertaining- 
ideas in the consciousness, at one time, with the most 
perfect indifference, while at another time those same 
ideas excite the most lively emotions. In the one case 
the idea comes and goes merely as a contemplative state, 
in the other case it is seen in connexion with their own 
being, and as affecting their own interests. So soon as 
this is the case, a corresponding emotion, either pleasur- 
able or painful, is generated. This emotion excites 
desire, and desire moves the will to action. The feelings, 
accordingly, form the intermediate machinery through 
which the intellectual nature operates upon the volitional. 
In the ordinary course of human life, the extent to which 



414 ON THE FEELINGS. 

the representations that pass through the mind affect 
our interests is so small, that we are not even conscious 
of the emotioDs which they excite. Yet it is true that 
we hardly experience a perception or an idea which does 
not excite some minute amount of pleasure or the 
reverse. This is, in fact, the unobserved machinery 
which determines the little multitudinous volitional acts 
of which our practical life mainly consists. It is only 
when the interests involved are more than usually close 
or weighty, that emotions, in the more ordinary sense, 
are excited, and the will is more powerfully affected. 

We may now, then, in conclusion, sum up the 
doctrine of this chapter in a few consecutive observa- 
tions : — 

1. The emotions are fundamentally different from 
ideas, and cannot be brought under the same definition. 

2. But still they are so far related to ideas that, if we 
had no ideas, we could have no emotions, in the higher 
sense of the word. 

3. Emotion depends on the tension of our ideas, i.e., 
on the special mode in which the residua affect each 
other, and pass in and out of the consciousness. 

4. The material of our ideas does not necessarily enter 
into the process by which our emotions are originated, 
although there may be emotions which only originate in 
connexion with ideas of a certain class. (This will be 
further illustrated in the next chapter.) 

5. The tension in our ideas is ordinarily accompanied 
with pleasure or pain. 

6. Pleasure arises when the vital energies are brought 
into full and adequate play ; pain, when they are either 
checked or over-stimulated. 

7. In the case of the emotions, properly so called, the 
ideas from which they spring give birth to a pleasurable 



NATURE AND ORIGIN OF THE FEELINGS. 415 

or painful feeling according as they are seen to affect our 
interests, personal or relative. 

8. Each kind of emotion, besides being ordinarily 
pleasurable or painful, possesses also a speciality of its 
own, which arises from the peculiar modification, which 
it indicates, of our common sensibility. 

9. The emotions are the intermediate agencies through 
which the intellect acts upon the will; and thus it is 
that they mainly govern our practical life. 



CHAPTER III. 
ON THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE FEELINGS. 

There is, perhaps, no psychological question which has 
been so variably and so indefinitely treated as that which 
relates to the classification of the emotions. The multi- 
plicity and heterogeneousness of the phenomena appear 
fairly to have baffled most of our mental analysts, so 
that, even to the present day, the problem remains to a 
large extent unsolved, — how, or according to what prin- 
ciples, it is that they can be most conveniently arranged 
into a definite system. 

Dr. Reid, who certainly took a broad and compre- 
hensive view of this, as of most other subjects, divided 
the whole of our active principles, as he terms them, 
into three great classes : — 

I. Mechanical Principles of Action, 
such as instinct, and habit. 

II. Animal Principles of Action, 
including all the appetites, desires, passions, affections, 
and dispositions. 

III. Hational Principles of Action, 
including regard to our own good, the sense of duty, 
and all the other motives which can be attributed either 
to rational or moral considerations. 

There is this excellence in Dr. Reid's classification, 
that it lays down three very distinct and valid categories, 



ON THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE FEELINGS. 417 

namely, first, principles of action, which are purely reflex 
and mechanical in their nature ; secondly, principles 
above these, which we possess in common with the^ 
lower animals ; and, thirdly, principles to which the 
higher nature of man alone is accessible. The whole 
idea of this division, however, proceeds upon a defective 
analysis. It makes no distinction whatever between 
volitional acts and emotions, but, taking the motive to 
the act, and the act itself, as belonging to one and the 
same class of phenomena, it proceeds to classify all 
those complex states which are made up of emotion and 
volition combined into the three kinds above indicated, 
and then leaves the whole question standing in this half- 
analyzed state. It is needless to say that no satisfactory 
classification of the feelings, as separate phenomena, can 
be derived from this principle. 

Brown's classification is much more minute and 
circumstantial than Reid's. It starts on the principle 
that the emotions are excited either by objects which 
are at the moment present to us, or which we look back 
upon in the past, or which we look forward to in the 
future. Hence he divides them into, — - 

I. Immediate Emotions, 
such as wonder, joy, cheerfulness, languor, beauty, 
sublimity, the ludicrous, &c. ; also, the varied feelings 
of love, hate, sympathy, virtue, vice, and so on. 

II. Retrospective Emotions, 

such as anger and gratitude, if relating to others; 
regret and gladness, if relating to ourselves. 

III. Prospective Emotions, 

including all the desires and the fears, together with 
hope, expectation, and anticipation. 

The first and most obvious objection which presents 

E E 



418 ON THE FEELINGS. 

itself to this arrangement is the impossibility of keeping 
the parts of division distinct. For example, the moral 
element runs through many of the feelings relating both 
to the present, past, and future ; so that Brown is 
obliged to subdivide each class over again, according as 
it possesses a moral element in it or not. We have, 
accordingly, two principles of classification jumbled 
together, and the result arrived at is anything but 
satisfactory to those who look for one clear and definite 
principle of division, under which all the phenomena of 
the case may be logically summed up. 

Reid's classification takes the kind of faculty with 
which the different principles of action stand in con- 
nexion, as the ground of the classification. Brown 
assumes the element of time as his basis — an element far 
too artificial to be put so much in the foreground, 
although it might properly be made the basis of some 
of the minor subdivisions. 

M. Gamier, the author of an extended work on the 
faculties of the mind, classifies the emotions under the 
title of inclinations according to the objects to which they 
relate, viz., — 

1 . Inclinations which relate to ourselves ; 

2. Inclinations which relate to our fellow-creatures ; and, 

3. Inclinations which relate to things, and not to 
persons. 

This classification is evidently more adapted to sum- 
marize the desires and passions than the feelings. The 
peculiarities of those special emotions, indeed, which do 
not involve any kind of inclination are not at all taken 
into account, and the entire view of the case is altogether 
defective. 

Sir William Hamilton's classification of the feelings is 
far more complete. We may tabulate it briefly as 
follows : — 



ON THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE FEELINGS. 419 

I. Sensational Feelings. 

1. Those which accompany the organs of sense. 

2. The coenaesthesis, or common sensibility, as heat, 
cold, shuddering, feeling of health, lassitude, &c. 

II. The Mental or Internal Feelings. 

1. Contemplative. 

a. Those attending the subsidiary faculties. 

b. Those attending the elaborative faculties. 

2. Practical. 

a. Pathological. 

b. Moral. 

If we turn to the German school of psychology, we 
find a considerable number of attempts at classifying the 
emotions, accompanied often with an acknowledgment of 
the great difficulty of the problem. 

Kant, to whom we are indebted for the first clear 
separation of the feelings from the other mental pheno- 
mena, takes the two facts of pleasure and pain as the 
great fundamental distinction subsisting between them. 
But pleasure and pain may be felt in connexion, 1st, 
with the sensational life ; or, 2dly, with the intellectual 
life, of man. 

I. If gratification is communicated through the senses, 
the result is pleasure, properly so called ; if through the 
imagination, then it gives rise to the pleasures of taste. 

II. Gratification communicated through the intellect 
may spring, 1st, from clear representative notions ; or, 
2dly, from ideals. In the first case we have the moral ; 
and, in the second, the higher aesthetic feelings. 

This classification has the merit of bringing the real 
fundamental characteristics of our emotional life into 
prominence; but it is not carried out into the details 
which are necessary, in order to show how the principle 

e e 2 



420 ON THE FEELINGS. 

of division thus adopted can be applied to all the indi- 
vidual forms which our feelings assume. 

The most complete classification of the feelings which 
I have been able to find amongst the German psycho- 
logists is that proposed by Professor Schleidler, under 
the article " Gefiild" in Ersch and Gruber's Ency- 
clopaedia. It is as follows : — 

I. Sense-feeling. 

A. The feelings accompanying the general sense of 
bodily existence ; as, e.g., those of health, or weakness, of 
general well-being, or general depression, hunger, thirst, 
satiety, &c. 

B. Organic feelings; i.e., the various kinds and 
degrees of pleasure and pain attached to the exercise of 
the special senses. 

C. Feelings of the inner sense • as joy or low spirits, 
contentment or discontent; all the various emotions 
which are attached to the word temper. 

II. Feelings connected with Ideas. 

1. When the ideas are prompted by the senses ; as in 
disgust, fellow feeling with pain, &c. 

2. When the ideas are prompted by the imagination ; 
e.g., hope and fear, in all their modifications. 

3. When the ideas are prompted by the understand- 
ing ; e.g., shame, reproach, repentance, &c. 

4. The lower aesthetic feelings, as the sense of physical 
beauty, or the reverse. 

III. Intellectual Feelings. 

1. Pleasure in acquiring knowledge, as also pain aris- 
ing from idleness. 

2. Pleasure in the mere exercise of the intellectual 
faculties; i.e., pleasures, such as those we derive from — 

a. Novelty. 

b. System and unity. 



ON THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE FEELINGS. 421 

c. Order and arrangement. 

d. Relation and symmetry. 

e. Harmony and rhythm. 

f. The simple and the complex. 

g. Wit and humour. 

h. The comic and the ridiculous. 

IV. Bational Feelings. 

A. Truth-feeling (Wahrheits-gefiihl). 

B. ^Esthetic feelings, in the higher sense. 

C. Moral feelings. 

D. Peeling of right. 

E. Sympathetic feelings. 
E. Religious feelings. 

The passions are regarded according to this system 
merely as intensified feelings, and are classified, there- 
fore, exactly on the same principle. 

This classification has many excellences to recommend 
it. It proceeds, for example, upon purely subjective 
and psychological grounds, and the distinctions drawn 
between the main classes of feelings are by no means 
either artificial or insignificant. At the same time, it 
makes the emotions, as such, by far too dependent upon 
the precise character of the particular intellectual state 
from which they in each case originate. It lies open, 
therefore, partly to the very same objection as does the 
classification of Reid, already referred to. We know, for 
example, that a perception and an idea will, by acting 
upon some particular part of the brain, call up precisely 
the same emotion, which shall be followed, too, by pre- 
cisely the same physical symptoms and results. Thus, a 
given action, when presented to us through the senses, 
will produce an emotion — say, of shame, indignation, 
or disgust, accompanied by all the physical character- 
istics which ordinarily attend these emotions ; but the 
idea of the action, when vividly presented, will produce 



422 ON THE FEELINGS. 

the very same feelings, and call forth the very same 
results in every case. This single instance is sufficient 
to show us that the real and fundamental character 
of the emotion does not necessarily depend upon the 
intellectual antecedent out of which it originated. Such 
phenomena as impatience or ennui, for example, do' not 
depend upon the character of intellectual state which 
precedes or accompanies it at all. In whatever way 
there may arise a conflict between the fact of the present 
moment and the wishes of the future, the same emotional 
result will make its appearance, and exhibit the very 
same mental and bodily characteristics. Admitting, 
therefore, the validity of the above distinctions in many 
points of view, we still cannot think that the classifica- 
tion, as a whole, keeps clear of well-grounded objections, 
or furnishes us with the desideratum so long looked for 
in this branch of psychology. 

In fact, if we go through all the long list of intel- 
lectual and rational feelings above given, we can hardly 
fail to see that they are in all cases mere instances of the 
general fact of emotional sensibility, only worked upon 
and modified by the excitant thought. The mental life 
is naturally stimulated, and the ideas quickened in their 
movements, whenever certain phenomena, such as those 
above enumerated, are presented ; and this excitation 
affords us a mental pleasure, which associates itself with 
the particular phenomena from which it springs. 

Without going any further into the history of this 
problem, let us now attempt to gather up the principal 
points of resemblance and distinction which have been 
brought forward by psychological writers, and see if 
they will aid us in understanding aright at least the 
broader lines of demarcation which separate our feelings 
from each other, and thus enable us to form a valid 
classification. 

First, let us look at the points of resemblance. The 



ON THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE FEELINGS. 423 

great characteristics which are common to all the feelings 
alike are — 

1. Their subjective character. In this they differ 
from the intellectual processes. Every definite intel- 
lectual process has an object external to self, to which 
the whole of the mental activity is directed. In the 
feelings, no such external object necessarily exists ; but 
we are especially occupied with our own subjective 
conditions. 

^ 2. Their relative indistinctness. An idea may be 
denned, explained, and made perfectly clear to ourselves 
or to others. Not so a feeling. This is indistinct in its 
character, inexplicable to one who has not experienced 
it, and incapable of being wholly conveyed through the 
medium of words. 

3. Their varying intensity. This depends on the 
circumstances under which the feeling is produced. 
Where the vital energies are strongly stimulated, or 
strongly repressed, a proportional intensity will be mani- 
fest in the corresponding feelings ; where they are 
weakly stimulated, or feebly repressed, the intensity will 
be proportionably diminished. 

These characteristics, however, are purely negative. 
They simply tell us that emotion is a mental state, 
which results in no external object, which is indistinct in 
its character, which is not of any particular degree of 
intensity. So infinitely varied are the phenomena which 
the emotions include, that some, indeed, have despaired 
of ever arriving at anything more than a merely negative 
definition, and have contented themselves with this 
without any further research. ' 

It may help us, however, to go a step further, if we 
look next at the various points of distinction which have 
been recognised as existing amongst the different emo- 
tions of which we are the subject. We may mention — 



424 ON THE FEELINGS. 

1. The distinction of pleasure and pain. These 
are two phenomena which run more or less through the 
whole of this class of our mental states. Every emotion 
of a pleasurable nature seems to have one of a painful 
kind precisely answering to it. For this very reason, the 
facts of pleasure and pain go very little way in aiding us 
to form a correct and complete analysis. They seem 
to be simply two sides of the same mental fact, and 
represent the positive and negative pole in every case. 

2. A second recognised distinction is that of time. 
Some emotions spring up from the circumstances of the 
moment ; others have their cause in the past ; and 
others, again, look forward to the future. This is 
a point which is fully available in the minor sub- 
divisions of the feelings, but does not lie so deep at 
their foundation as to be the great turning-point on 
which a general classification should be formed. 

3. A third distinction is the person or object to which 
the emotion relates; i.e., whether to ourselves, or 
to others, or to the objects of inanimate nature 
around us. 

4. A fourth distinction is the faculty, or region of 
intellectual activity, out of which the emotion springs ; 
i.e., whether it is connected with the senses, with the 
ideas, with certain processes of thought, or with the 
higher conclusions of the reason. 

Classifications of the feelings, as we have seen, may 
easily be formed on the basis of these various distinc- 
tions ; but in every case they bear an artificial character, 
and the parts of division do not run perfectly clear of 
each other. There is one other great point of distinction, 
however, that has been noticed by several of the more 
recent German psychologists, and which appears to me 
to be, at the same time, valid and thorough-going. We 
possess a large class of emotions which do not depend in 



ON THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE FEELINGS. 425 

the smallest degree upon the hind of ideas which stand 
in connexion with them, but simply upon the mode in 
which those ideas flow in and out of the consciousness. 
Thus, the feelings of expectation, of doubt, of restlessness, 
of impatience, of ennui, of weariness, of amusement, of 
contrast, and many more, have no connexion whatever with 
the matter of our ideas, but arise simply from the mode 
in which they operate within the mind. On the other 
hand, there is a large class of feelings which only origi- 
nate in connexion with ideas or mental processes of a 
particular nature. This is the case with the aesthetic 
feelings, whether those which are communicated through 
the eye or through the ear ; with the moral feelings in 
all their varieties ; with the sympathetic feelings ; and 
with the feelings which accompany the appreciation of 
truth (Wahrheits-gefuhl). 

This great twofold distinction appears to me to be 
fundamental and vital. It touches the real differences 
which exist in our emotions, and forms the basis of a 
double classification, which has something more than a 
mere artificial value. Starting, then, with this principle 
in the foreground, we propose the following classifica- 
tion, which is, perhaps, as complete as our present 
knowledge of psychological processes will admit of: — 

I. Feelings which depend solely on the flow of our ideas 
through the consciousness. 

1. Those dependent on bodily causes ; as, 
Health, vigour, high spirits, on the one side ; or weak- 
ness, languor, low spirits, on the other. 

2. Those dependent on mental causes ; as, 
Expectation, satisfaction, entertainment, on the one 
side; or disappointment, ennui, doubt, impatience, 
weariness of mind, on the other. 



426 ON THE FEELINGS. 

II. Feelings which stand in connexion with the nature 
and material of the ideas themselves. 

A. Those which stand in connexion with the contem- 
plation of natural phenomena, or aesthetic feelings. 

B. Those which stand in connexion with the contem- 
plation of our fellow-men, or sympathetic feelings. 

C. Those which stand in connexion with the human 
action, or moral feelings. 

D. Those which stand in connexion with truth and 
destiny, or religious feelings. 

Into these we shall enter somewhat more minutely in 
the two following chapters. 



CHAPTER IV. 

FEELINGS WHICH ARE INDEPENDENT OF ANY 
SPECIAL CLASS OF IDEAS. 



The first of the two great divisions into which we have 
separated the whole of our emotional phenomena com- 
prehends those which are in no way dependent on the 
nature or characteristics of the ideas from which they 
spring. In all cases, for example, such as those in which 
we experience expectation, doubt, ennui, cheerfulness of 
temper, weariness of mind, &c, the material of the ideas 
with which we are occupied is indifferent ; the cause of 
them lies wholly in the manner in which those ideas 
flow through the consciousness. We might term them, 
accordingly, subjective emotions, in contradistinction to 
those which are modified by the nature of the corre- 
sponding ideas, and which might be properly termed 
objective emotions. Or, again, as these particular emo- 
tions depend on the form in which the ideas recur, they 
might be termed formal ; while the others, as partaking 
somewhat of the matter of the ideas, could in this case 
be termed material. 

To show the nature and origin of this class of emo- 
tions, we must revert to the explanations given in the 
last chapter but one. We there saw that all those 
circumstances affecting our feelings, which stimulate the 
mental forces, cause a more rapid circulation of ideas 
through the mind, and that the consciousness we have of 
the struggle or tension which thus sets in in a favourable 



428 ON THE FEELINGS. 

direction is accompanied by a pleasurable emotion. On 
the contrary, circumstances which depress the mental 
forces give rise to a tension of an opposite character, — 
one that produces a feeling of repression, a sense of 
being checked and thwarted, and thus lead to a variety 
of emotions which are painful, or, at any rate, disagree- 
able. 

The causes of these varied changes in the flow of our 
ideas may lie either in bodily, or in purely mental influ- 
ences ; and on this fact we may ground a twofold sub- 
division of this subjective class of emotions, — distinguish- 
ing them, that is, according as they spring from circum- 
stances which primarily affect us through the body, or 
from circumstances which immediately affect the mind. 

A. We shall consider, first, those emotions of a sub- 
jective character which are dependent on bodily causes. 

This class of feelings, though truly emotional, yet 
lies next to those mere physical phenomena of pleasure 
and pain which result from the well or ill-being of the 
nervous system. They are not, properly speaking, 
physical in their nature, inasmuch as they presuppose 
certain mental influences, and the disturbance of the 
regular, ordinary flow of our ideas ; but this disturbance 
may be occasioned by external and natural causes. In a 
word, they flow from anything whatever of an external 
character which affects, pleasantly or unpleasantly, our 
ccengesthesis, or common-sensibility. Dr. Noble has thus 
appositely described this class of feelings, in the work 
before alluded to : — 

" Under ordinary circumstances this peculiar mode of 
consciousness [viz., the ccenaesthesis] is recognised as 
tranquil contentment. When it is gratefully exalted, we 
are said to be in capital spirits, glad at heart, joyous; 
we are ready for anything — in high feather. When it 
is painfully depressed, we are anxious, low-spirited, dull, 



FEELINGS INDEPENDENT OF SPECIAL IDEAS. 429 

and heavy; we have no heart for exertion, we are 
thoroughly down. And, of course, there are states 
intermediate, which vary both in kind and degree. 
These modifications may be determined by causes chiefly 
physical, or by causes which, in their origin, are alto- 
gether psychical. All persons have their spirits more or 
less acted upon by conditions of the atmosphere, and by 
states of the viscera. Go back in memory to the damp, 
foggy days of dark November, and recall the dispiriting 
influence of their desolation and gloom. The relation 
between visceral conditions and the feelings is the theme 
of perpetual recognition. Witness the importance of a 
sound digestion, and a healthy state of the liver, to the 
maintenance of moral contentment." (Op. Cit. pp. 
61,2.) 

The psychological fact involved in this very accurate 
description is this, that whatever tends to stimulate 
healthily and adequately the physical powers, reacts upon 
the mind. The ideas flow more rapidly ; the struggle 
they enter into with one another to find due recognition 
and expression is accompanied by a pleasing elevation of 
the ccensesthesis, or common-sensibility; and we are 
then said to have the feelings of health, vigour, high 
spirits, and all the associated phenomena. In whatever 
way the mind is affected, and the flow of our conscious 
life quickened and stimulated by pleasant bodily sensa- 
tions, whether from without or from within, we may be 
said to be the subjects of pleasurable emotions, dependent 
on bodily causes, and arising from the excitation of the 
vital energies. 

Exactly in the same way, whatever tends to depress 
the vital functions has also a reflex mental influence, and 
gives rise to an inward tension and resistance which 
comes into consciousness under the form of various 
disagreeable feelings, and a degression of the common 



430 ON THE FEELINGS. 

sensibility.* Here, then, we have two series of emo- 
tional phenomena, which present themselves to us as 
merely modifications and temporary affections of the 
ccencesthesis. Particular affections of the nervous system, 
to which we are exposed either from external or internal 
causes, react upon the mind, change the flow of our 
ideas, create a tension in the tone of our conscious life, 
and thus give rise, on the one hand, to feelings of 
vigour, lightness, high spirits, joyousness of heart, &c, 
or, on the other hand, to feelings of mental languor, 
low spirits, and depression. 

B. But, secondly, there are also many emotions of 
this same subjective character which are dependent on 
purely mental causes. We may take the phenomenon of 
expectation as a sort of typal instance of the feelings we 
are now considering, and the analysis of this will help 
us to understand all the rest. 

Phenomena which present themselves in some regular 
order or succession to our observation, become associated 
together in our minds in exactly the same way. Every 
link in the chain leaves a corresponding residuum ; so 
that, when one is excited and brought into conscious- 
ness, the next in the chain immediately appears j and 
so on in succession, until the whole series has been 
recalled. Now, when we are put in a position to 
witness any series of phenomena over again which we 
have before observed, and every link of which is laid up 
in the memory, we find that each step, as it appears, 
will at once awaken the corresponding residuum, which 
residuum is, of course, at once absorbed in and blended 
with the physical fact. So the process goes on to the end, 

* In many ailments there is a certain absence of emotion — a 
paralysis of the ccencesthesis — even when the intellect is clear. 
This occurs when the bodily state produces a mental condition of 
perfect indifference to everything around. 



FEELINGS INDEPENDENT OF SPECIAL IDEAS. 431 

every residuum (a) being awakened and then absorbed in 
the corresponding phenomenon {a') as the series unfolds. 

But now we will suppose that the series of events is 
one which affects our interests, and at the end of which 
we anticipate some great pleasure or advantage. We may 
be travelling home, for instance, from a journey. We 
know the whole road, and feel that, when each succes- 
sive stage has been passed, and we arrive at the wished- 
for spot, some friend will be there to welcome us with 
tidings of joy and gladness. What is the effect of this 
position, psychologically, on the trains of thought ? 
The mind, under the stimulus of the hoped-for pleasure, 
passes over each step in the series faster than the real 
series actually unfolds ; and we are kept in a state of 
tension by the struggle of the perceptive phenomena, 
a', b' ', c, d' y &c, to hold back the corresponding residua, 
a, b, c, d. Whenever, then, the facts of our percep- 
tive life forcibly restrain the too rapid evolution of 
the corresponding and associated series of ideas, which 
are struggling on to their termination, the feeling of 
expectation arises, negative in itself as regards pleasure 
or pain, but rendered pleasurable to whatever extent 
the anticipated end is realized, and painful to whatever 
extent it is baffled and deceived. Here, accordingly, 
the whole emotion which we are now considering is seen 
to arise from the struggle and tension of the ideas 
which are put into activity, quite independently of the 
material which these ideas may involve. The pleasure 
or pain that accompanies a state of expectation is 
experienced in proportion as the ideas are checked in 
their flow, on the one hand; or, in proportion as the 
check is removed, and each excited residuum is con- 
firmed by the corresponding reality, on the other. 

The feeling of satisfaction arises in the same way. 
The residua that are awakened by the circumstances in 



432 ON THE FEELINGS. 

which we are placed, and thus recalled to consciousness, 
lead us to anticipate a certain real objective result. So 
long as the real objective result is not actualized, the 
mind is held in a state of tension, approaching to a 
painful expectancy ; but so soon as ever the result 
appears, the tension is relaxed, and a feeling of relief is 
at once experienced. Perhaps we are performing a 
delicate experiment. We know already the steps of the 
process, and the result to which it ought to lead. The 
mind, accordingly, naturally anticipates the flow of 
events ; it passes over the links in the chain rapidly, and 
looks to the end. If the result we look for does not, for 
a time, appear, a state of mental tension is produced, 
approaching to a painful condition of expectancy ; but the 
moment the experiment succeeds, the tension is relaxed, 
the expectancy ceases, and a feeling of satisfaction 
ensues. 

The feeling of entertainment arises from precisely the 
reverse process to that of expectancy. In expectancy 
the ideas flow faster than the facts ; in entertainment the 
facts flow faster than the ideas. The mind, accordingly, 
has no time to attend to the flow of its own thoughts, 
and every residuum which would otherwise struggle for 
a conscious existence is repressed by some new and 
unlooked-for circumstance ab extra. The rapid succes- 
sion of new ideas or perceptions thus brought home to 
us gives a pleasing stimulus to the mental energies, and 
the result is, that we are held in a tranquil state of 
emotive enjoyment, forgetful of our own thoughts, and 
of that lapse of time which they alone reveal to us. 

Let us look, next, at the other side of the picture, 
and enumerate some of those painful or disagreeable 
states of emotion which are produced by the depression 
of the mental energies. Amongst these we may - 
mention, — 



FEELINGS INDEPENDENT OF SPECIAL IDEAS. 433 

1. The feeling of disappointment. This is precisely 
the converse of the feeling of satisfaction. The series of 
ideas which we expect, as they evolve, to be confirmed 
by the corresponding reality, here fails of such confirma- 
tion. The given residua are awakened, and draw the 
mind to the object of its hopes or wishes ; expectation, 
accordingly, sets in, and a pleasing state of tension is 
produced so long as the hope and expectation lasts ; but 
at length, just when the realization of the ideas should 
be experienced, the perceptive confirmation fails, and 
the mental stimulus receives a sudden check, which 
converts the emotive state from one of hope into the 
opposite feeling of disappointment. 

2. Another of the states of feeling very commonly 
produced by the particular mode in which the ideas flow 
through the consciousness, is that which the French, and 
we from them, call ennui, This is just the reverse of 
entertainment, and is induced by exactly the opposite 
causes. In the case of amusement, the novelty and 
variety of the facts presented to us occupy the attention, 
so that we have no time to observe the flow of our own 
ideas. In the case of ennUi t novelty and variety fail. 
We are placed in circumstances where there is nothing 
to excite the attention, and the mind is thrown back 
entirely upon its own trains of thought. If these trains 
of thought are sufficiently lively to occupy the conscious- 
ness, the feeling of ennui is not produced; but if the 
circumstances in which we are placed are just sufficient 
to weaken the trains of thought, while they are not 
sufficient to excite our attention arid interest, a struggle 
sets in between the outward fact and the internal flow 
of our thoughts, which has the character of a repressive 
and painful feeling — the feeling of a disagreeable and 
helpless vacuity, thwarting to the mental energies, and 
tending to depress all exertion. 

F F 



434 ON THE FEELINGS. 

3. The analysis of impatience does not differ very 
materially from expectation. Here, as before, the ideas 
flow faster than the realities ; but there is one special 
point of difference which constitutes the main distinction 
between the two feelings. In expectation, the mind is 
fixed chiefly upon some pleasure that is to come ; so much 
so, that the mental life is stimulated, and the enjoyment 
derived from the anticipation of that pleasure is greater 
than the annoyance which arises from the delay of its 
realization. In impatience, on the contrary, the relative 
strength of the two feelings is precisely reversed. The 
mind may be stimulated by the prospect of the desired 
object, but it is still more forcibly checked and thwarted 
by the delay. Hence we are held in a state of disagree- 
able tension, and the pleasure felt in the anticipation is 
overborne by the restlessness and repression which that 
delay occasions. 

We might go through an indefinite number of 
different shades of feeling, analogous to those already 
mentioned ; but the principle already laid down will be 
amply sufficient to enable any one who attends closely 
to his train of thought, and the flow of his mental life, to 
perform the analysis for himself. It is sufficient for our 
present purpose to have shown the application of the one 
general truth, viz., that those emotive states, in which no 
special material of thought is involved, all result from 
the particular mode in which the ideas pass through the 
mind, and from the tension which is produced when 
they are either stimulated or depressed. In this 
way they come under the great mental law of attraction 
and repulsion — being either pleasurable or painful, in 
proportion as the attractive or the repellent force is, for 
a time, predominant. 



CHAPTER V. 

FEELINGS WHICH ARE DEPENDENT UPON 
SPECIAL CLASSES OF IDEAS. 

The class of emotional feelings which we have already 
considered is entirely independent of the hind of ideas 
with which the mind may at the time be occupied. 
They originate simply in the peculiar relation which 
those ideas hold to the consciousness, and are agreeable 
or disagreeable in proportion as the temporary flow of 
our mental life is stimulated or depressed. 

We come now to the other great class of emotions, — 
those, namely, which only arise in connexion with 
certain peculiar kinds of ideas or perceptions. Thus 
there are certain feelings which we experience only in 
the contemplation of nature ; others which are connected 
with the aspect of the joy or suffering of our fellow 
creatures. There are some, again, which arise from the 
contemplation of human action, and others which 
associate themselves with the contemplation of human 
truth and human destiny. We may divide this whole 
class of our emotions accordingly, under the four heads 
of the aesthetic, the sympathetic, the moral, and the 
religious emotions. 

I. We begin, first, with the aesthetic emotions — those 
which arise from the contemplation of nature, or its 
imitation by the artist. And here we must be careful 
at the outset to separate those feelings which are of a 
purely nervous or sensational kind from those which 

f f 2 



436 ON THE FEELINGS. 

have a mental and strictly aesthetic origin. Thus certain 
colours and combinations of colours evidently have the 
property of affecting the nerves in such a way as to 
produce a pleasant sensation, while others produce a 
disagreeable one. The same may be said of different 
classes of sounds. What the agreeableness or disagree- 
ableness may arise from it is not perhaps possible, in 
the present state of our knowledge, to determine. We 
know that different colours are produced by vibrations 
of different degrees of minuteness and velocity, and that 
sounds are produced in like manner by waves and agita- 
tions of the atmosphere. We have reason also to believe 
that these vibrations, both luminous and sonorous, 
communicate themselves in some way through the 
nervous apparatus to the brain. It is reasonable, there- 
fore, to conclude, that agreeable or disagreeable sounds 
or colours arise from the peculiar character of the vibra- 
tions, and the way in which they affect the nervous 
system ; but we can go no further than this at present 
in our research, and even the conclusion already drawn 
must still be put forward with a certain amount of 
hypothetical hesitation. 

Separating, then, those phenomena which affect the 
nervous system sensationally, as not belonging at all to 
the region of aesthetics, we come to the more import- 
ant fact, that there are certain external phenomena (as 
those of form, of sound, of grouping, of expression, &c.) 
which awaken purely mental emotions, quite distinct 
from any mere sensational stimulus. These emotions 
include all those which we designate as the feeling 
of beauty, of harmony, of symmetry, of sublimity, and 
so on. All such feelings are conditional upon a certain 
amount of intelligence — that is, in other words, they 
involve the presence at the time (at least tacitly) of 
certain ideas ; and, like all other emotions, are evidently 



FEELINGS WHICH ARE DEPENDENT, ETC. 437 

dependent upon the flow of these ideas through the con- 
sciousness. 

The na tural philosophy of the beautiful and the 
sublime is a vein of research which has hardly been 
opened, and which awaits its fuller development in the 
future. To a certain point, indeed, we can proceed in 
the investigation with tolerable certainty. Putting toge- 
ther the hind of objects which excite the emotion of 
beauty with the knowledge we have of the subjective 
nature of emotion itself, we can conclude that there 
must be something in the nature and constitution of the 
objects termed beautiful, which stimulate the mind, and 
cause a certain tension and ebullition in the flow of its 
ideas. We can go even one step further. It seems 
impossible that mere outward and passive forms should 
be able to stimulate the flow of our ideas, unless those 
forms expressed ideas themselves. An outward object, 
with or without meaning, might produce sensations, and 
thus stimulate the nervous system ; but to awaken the 
mind, to stimulate the flow of ideas, and kindle a purely 
mental emotion, there must be something kindred to 
mind in the object — there must, in fact, be reason 
visibly embodied in form, or audibly embodied in tones. 

Let us take a few examples to illustrate this. A 
shapeless and unsymmetrical form such as this, 
produces no feeling of beauty whatever ; on y ^\ 
the other hand, a purely symmetrical figure ^~V 
(such as a circle, or an ellipse, and, still more, any such 
form as this, ^p, in which we have a number 
of similar (J>kJ curves all radiating from a com- 
mon centre), ^-^ at once produces a feeling of 
beauty or harmony of parts. In the unsymmetrical 
figure there is nothing for the mind to employ itself 
upon — no harmony of parts, no evidence of reason 
or design in the structure. On the other hand, in the 



438 ON THE FEELINGS. 

symmetrical figure there is unity and variety combined ; 
the mind, in passing round the surface, is kept in a state 
of expectancy ; and the pleasure it derives from finding 
its expectations realized, as it passes round from one 
curve to another, appears to constitute one element 
at least in the sense of beauty which it evokes. The 
more elaborate the figure is, so long as we can keep the 
whole idea of it as a perfect unity in the mind, the more 
is the mental expectancy stimulated, and the more is it 
eventually satisfied. Hence complex forms give a greater 
sense of beauty than perfectly simple ones. There is 
more mind embodied in them; the tension we expe- 
rience in balancing all its parts is greater ; and the con- 
sequent emotion of beauty is more vivid. The same 
principle may be seen to exist in the beauty which we 
appreciate by the ear. Confused unrhythmical sounds 
give no sense of beauty. On the contrary, the moment 
the element of rhythm or measure is introduced, the 
mind is arrested, and its expectancy excited. We look 
for a repetition of the same rhythm, and experience 
a sense of satisfaction when it comes. In proportion as 
the melody becomes more complicated, the tension of 
mind with which we listen to it is greater ; and, so long 
as the unity is not lost, our sense of its beauty pro- 
portionally increases. 

The element of harmony enhances the effect tenfold. 
Those intervals are known to be most harmonious which 
stand to each other in the relation of simple numbers' 
(the octave, e.g., as 1 to 2, the fifth as 2 to 3, &c.) ; 
those tones, on the contrary, between which there is no 
definite ratio, are discordant. The tension produced in 
our minds by harmony, moreover, is increased by the 
complication of the chords, and by their threatening con- 
fusion, followed by a successful resolution. All this 
shows us the same principle at work — the fact, namely, 



FEELINGS WHICH ARE DEPENDENT, ETC. 439 

that there must be mind expressed, in the one case, in 
the form, — in the other case, in the tone ; and that 
the feeling produced in us is greater the more compli- 
cated the forms or tones become, so long as the clue to 
the whole idea is not lost sight of, and the unity 
perfectly preserved in the midst of all the variety. 

If we pass on to objects of natural beauty, such as 
the animal or the human form, the same fundamental 
truths lie at the basis of all the aesthetic emotions which 
they also excite. They, too, must be expressive of 
certain ideas, producing a state of mental tension 
while we are inwardly following them out, as there 
expressed ; and the feeling of satisfaction which follows 
from the expectation excited in us being realized, is here 
also the ground of our aesthetic pleasure. Thus, in con- 
templating a perfect statue such as that of the Apollo 
Belvidere, a number of ideas imperceptibly arise, and 
struggle to occupy the consciousness of the moment. 
The figure suggests strength, health, vigour, activity, 
power, intelligence, capacity of thought and action. In 
like manner, a beautiful painting, like that of the Sextine 
Madonna, calls up all the perfections of the female 
nature — simplicity, purity, love, wonder, reverence, earn- 
estness, and joy. All these and many more ideas rush 
into the mind at the moment the object is presented, 
and both stimulate the expectation and satisfy it. It is 
this tension which we experience, and the pleasure we 
have in finding every idea fully realized, which seems to 
create the sense of the beautiful in connexion with 
objects of high art, such as those above mentioned. It is 
not my object, of course, to enter minutely into the 
subject of aesthetics externally considered ; all I pro- 
posed was, to hint at the psychological theory by which 
the emotions of beauty may be accounted for. It must 
be readily admitted, however, that the mode in which 



440 ON THE FEELINGS. 

forms and tones work upon the mind, and produce the 
sentiments of beauty, grandeur, sublimity, &c, is but 
very imperfectly known. If the above theory, however, 
be confirmed by closer observation, the pathway seems 
opened by which a natural history of the sublime and 
beautiful may be eventually elaborated and established. 

II. We come next to those emotions which arise from 
the contemplation of our fellow-creatures, viz., — the sym- 
pathetic and antipathetic. 

The sympathetic feelings arise from the principle 
already established, that a sensation, and the idea of a 
sensation have the power of producing one and the same 
effect upon the volitional and emotional centres. This is 
true even with regard to bodily feelings and their physical 
results. The taste of some nauseous substance will 
produce the feeling of nausea, and the corresponding 
physical results upon the stomach ; the idea of the 
thing, if vividly realized, will produce precisely the 
same consequences. 

The sympathetic emotions are a direct instance of 
the working of this principle in relation to the joys 
or sorrows of our fellow-creatures. When we have 
before us the aspect of a fellow-man in a position which 
involves intense pleasure or pain, physical or mental, we 
know from our own experience what his feelings are 
likely to be. He has the reality, we have the reflexion : 
he has the direct feeling arising from the outward 
circumstances in which he is placed ; we have a similar 
feeling arising from the idea which the aspect of the 
case presents to our minds. 

The relationship of these two parallel series of phe- 
nomena to each other can be easily traced out by looking 
at their respective origin. If the sympathy have refer- 
ence to bodily pain, then, in the case of the sufferer, 
we have presented to us the actual feeling which arises 



FEELINGS WHICH ARE DEPENDENT, ETC. 



441 



from the arresting and disturbing of some of the vital 
energies. In the case of the sympathizer, we have a 
strong reflexion of this same nervous disturbance, arising 
from a vivid idea of the suffering endured. If the 
sympathy arise from mental suffering, then, in the case 
of the sufferer, we have a strong tension and ebullition 
of ideas, adverse to the natural and healthy play of our 
mental life. In the sympathizer we have a similar 
tension and ebullition arising from the contemplation of 
this emotive state in the other. 

It is not always the case, however, that the sight of 
another's sorrow or joy excites a similar sympathetic 
emotion in our own bosoms. Sometimes other consider- 
ations, of a selfish nature, will interfere with the natural 
development of sympathy. If we have a strong emotion 
of enmity against the person whom we see suffer, 
sympathy will be sometimes changed into malice ; or, if 
the person is elated by a joy which we do not possess, it 
will very likely become envy. Every turn in the change 
of relationship will produce a different shade, either of 
sympathy or antipathy, which alone is sufficient to show 
us how entirely the whole character of these feelings is 
dependent upon the mode in which the ideas occupy and 
affect the consciousness. 

III. The third variety of these special objective 
emotions include those which arise from the contem- 
plation of human action \ we term them the moral 
feelings. 

There are two main questions with which moral 
philosophy has chiefly to do. These are, first, the 
nature and ground of virtue ; and, secondly, the mental 
faculty with which we apprehend it, or, in other words, 
the constitution of the human conscience. The first of 
these questions is a purely subjective and metaphysical 



-^*\~j 



442 ON THE FEELINGS. 

one; the second belongs strictly to the department of 
psychology. 

Various terms have been employed by psychologists to 
denote the moral faculty. It has been termed conscience, 
the moral sense, moral judgment, moral approbation and 
disapprobation, moral feeling, moral sentiments; and 
other terms might, no doubt, be found amongst ethical 
writers to mean the same thing. The analysis already 
gone through in the former chapters will go far to aid us 
in putting this question of the human conscience upon 
its rigid psychological basis. First of all, we have 
shown that there can be no true emotions without ideas ; 
consequently, there can be no distinctively moral emo- 
tions without distinctively moral ideas. The term 
" moral sense " is, so far, inconvenient and inaccurate, 
inasmuch as it seems to imply that we have moral per- 
ceptions coming to us at once, from without, like the 
perception of external objects, without any mental 
operation in which they are grounded. The moral 
feelings, we should remember, do not follow the analogy 
of the bodily senses, but they follow the analogy of the 
emotions, and have their root in the ideas and distinctions 
we form in reference to moral good and evil. 

If it be next asked, " How are our moral ideas 
formed ? " then the psychology of the ideas generally 
furnishes the material for a reply. All thinking is 
differentiation. It is by noting the resemblances and 
the differences of things that they are formed into 
classes, give rise to ideas and concepts, and are fitted 
for the purpose of logical argumentation or rational 
inquiry into truth. 

Moral ideas, like all others, are formed in this way. 
We do not start with any a priori notion of an absolute 
good or an absolute right ; this is rather the goal to 



FEELINGS WHICH ARE DEPENDENT, ETC. 443 

which our moral thought tends as its highest expression. 
Every man forms his ideas of good and evil from the 
phenomena around him. He learns gradually to separate 
actions which have any kind of moral element in them 
from others which have not ; and, in the same way, he 
comes, by a like gradual process, to divide them into the 
two classes of right and wrong. That this is the mode 
in which our moral ideas are formed is confirmed by the 
fact, that there is no positive standard of morals any- 
where to be found. Men in a low and barbarous state 
of civilization have the more elementary and inadequate 
moral ideas ; and, even amongst civilized nations, we 
find that the moral standard is by no means uniform. 
Special virtues and vices take a very different rank in 
one country from what they do in another. Amongst 
barbarians, actions are mostly counted right or wrong 
according as they conduce to their immediate happiness 
or misery. Amongst children, actions are estimated 
according to the authority to which they have been 
taught to submit. As the mind develops, and the ideas 
become clearer, actions are viewed successively in relation 
to the general laws and habits of society ; then, accord- 
ing as they coincide with the more universal verdicts of 
human judgment ; and, lastly, according as they conform 
to an ideal perfection, which we attribute to the Deity 
alone. 

Now, the moral emotions are natural consequents 
upon the formation and existence in the mind of moral 
ideas. An action is performed which is adjudged, ac- 
cording to the moral conceptions we have formed, to be 
strikingly right or strikingly wrong. Were it a mere matter 
of judgment that we were called upon to pronounce, we 
should quietly distribute such actions to their respective 
categories, and the thing would end there. But human 
life is composed of human interests, and these interests 



2 



444 ON THE FEELINGS. 

are affected by every moral or immoral action. We are, 
consequently, not satisfied with merely pronouncing a 
moral judgment ; we feel our moral ideas frequently 
thrown into commotion ; a state of tension is produced 
by the actual contact with virtue or vice ; and the result 
of this tension is an emotion, which we call moral 
approbation, on the one hand, or moral disapprobation 
on the other — approbation when the moral life is stimu- 
lated and called forth in the direction of virtuous action, 
and disapprobation when the moral life is checked and 
wounded by what we are constrained to repel and 
condemn. 

The question, therefore, which moral philosophers 
have so often asked, and which it pertains to psychology 
to answer, viz., What is conscience, can now be answered 
with the requisite degree of scientific accuracy. Con- 
science is primarily a judgment exercised upon human 
actions, by which they are classified as right or wrong ; 
that judgment being necessitated and guided by the 
whole state of human society in which we are born and 
educated. Next it consists in a corresponding emotion 
which arises from the tension of our moral ideas, when- 
ever human interests are seen to be dependent upon 
human action. Lastly, it consists in the state of will 
which these emotions produce — impelling us to act in 
accordance with the ideas we have formed of right and 
duty. Conscience, therefore, is the union, in one com- 
plex state, of moral ideas, moral emotion, and moral 
activity; for the whole of our nature, intellectual, 
emotional, and volitional, is involved in every act which 
conscience dictates. 

The other question which moral philosophy deals 
with, viz., What is the ground of virtue, cannot be solved 
by psychology. We must leave it for the metaphysician 
to determine what are the qualities in human actions, 



FEELINGS WHICH ARE DEPENDENT, ETC. 445 

objectively considered, according to which our judgment 
separates them into the two great categories of good and 
evil. Whatever these qualities may be, the mental 
process involved in our moral life is clear. Thinking is 
differentiation. Moral thinking is the distinction of 
human actions as right or wrong • and moral emotion 
results from the tension produced in the ideas thus 
formed, according as they, in any individual instance, 
affect our own welfare or those of mankind at large. 

IV. The only class of special emotions left, are those 
which accompany the contemplation of human truth and 
human destiny — I mean the religious emotions. We 
are placed here in the midst of a universe, of which we 
see and comprehend only an infinitely small portion. 
The human reason, not satisfied with the knowledge 
which it is able to acquire, longs to go beyond the 
region of the known into that of the unknown, and thus 
to complete, by its own subjective efforts, what cannot 
be ascertained on clear objective grounds. In the 
presence of these great problems, the human mind finds 
out its own weakness and dependance. Interests of 
infinite moment start up in connexion with the purpose of 
life — the destiny to which it tends — the eternal future — 
and the infinite power on which the whole reposes. The 
fast feeling, then, which naturally arises in the human 
breast from the tension and struggle of these great ideas, 
is the feeling of helplessness and dependance. This is 
the starting point and foundation of the religious 
emotions. That which we know, becomes a part of the 
whole mass of scientific truth, and is removed at once 
by this very fact out of the region of religious faith or 
feeling : that which we do not know, and cannot compre- 
hend, but which, nevertheless, stands closely related to 
our happiness and our destiny, can still become the 
object of our faith ; and, as such, produces the feeling of 



446 ON THE FEELINGS. 

helplessness and dependance, from which the religious 
life, subjectively considered, takes its commencement. 
As the objects of our faith become clearer to the mind, 
other feelings mingle up with the first emotion; love, 
joy, confidence, hope, all unite their influences as the 
beneficence and goodness of the Deity are more and 
more realized in the world without, and the soul within ; 
and thus that complex state of feeling involving humility, 
awe, veneration, love, gratitude, joy, in the presence of 
the Infinite and Eternal, is gradually evolved, which we 
term religious feeling. 

If the ideas we form of the Infinite, and our relations 
to it are dark, gloomy, and oppressive, the feelings take 
a similar hue, and religious gloom, melancholy, and even 
despair, may possess the mind when crushed under the 
sense of its present dependance, and the darkness which 
the future presents. 

Here, however, as in the case of the aesthetic and 
moral feelings, we can only glance at the psychological 
basis out of which they spring. To follow these various 
questions up into all their details would require a 
separate treatise on the philosophy of cestketics, morals, 
and religion. 



CHAPTER VI. 

ON THE DESIRES AND PASSIONS. 

In the two last parts of this volume a broad distinction 
has been drawn between volition and feeling, and their 
respective developments. Volition springs primarily out 
of the motor system. Here the original source of active 
power lies concealed ; and, although it is exerted at first 
unconsciously and mechanically, yet it becomes gradually 
transformed, as the mind unfolds, into a conscious and 
voluntary activity. Feeling, on the other hand, springs 
out of the sensory system ; commencing in the funda- 
mental fact of common sensibility, and then varying 
according to the subsequent development of the intel- 
lectual faculties, and the tension of ideas to which we 
are thus subjected. 

We come next to consider a cognate series of mental 
facts, which play a very large part in our mental 
economy ; I mean those included under what we term 
the desires and passions. We feel, at first, somewhat at 
a loss to determine under what precise category these 
phenomena should be classified. Desire certainly 
involves feeling of some kind j for it is based on the 
appreciation of what is good or evil, of worth or worth- 
lessness, of well-being or ill-being. But it also involves 
volition, because, when we desire a thing we not only 
feel that it has value or the reverse, but are brought 
into that active state of mind in reference to it, that we 
are strongly led to seek for its attainment. 



Hi 



448 ON THE FEELINGS. 

We may conclude, therefore, that desire is a complex 
state, made up partly of feeling and partly of volition ; 
in other words, that we are said to desire a thing when 
our will to attain it is accompanied by a decided feeling 
of its worth, and not decided merely by an act of 
reasoning or judgment. 

The analysis of desire, as a mental fact, has been 
already alluded to in the chapter on the Development of 
Volitional Power. We must enter into it now, however, 
somewhat more minutely, and attempt to follow it out 
into those more intensified forms in which we so 
frequently find it under the name of passion. 

All desire commences with a pleasurable feeling of 
some kind ; i.e., in other words, with an ^excitation more 
or less strong of the vital forces. This excitation may 
reside simply in the body; i.e., it may be a mere eleva- 
tion of our ordinary sensibility ; and the result will then 
be, desire of the lower or physical kind, — -desire for some 
particular form of sensuous gratification. Or the excita- 
tion may be purely mental, proceeding from some object 
which arouses the intellectual or volitional powers, and 
causes the mental force to flow with a stronger current 
through the brain and nervous system. In this case we 
become the subjects of some of the higher or intellectual 
desires. 

Thus, to give examples, we derive pleasure from the 
satisfaction of our hunger or thirst by means of appro- 
priate food or drink. Owing to this pleasure, we form a 
desire which leads to our taking the course which is 
necessary for its satisfaction. Were we compelled to 
seek our food simply by an intellectual conviction that 
it was essential to life and health, we should, no doubt, 
neglect the precaution in a thousand instances, and suffer 
in consequence from deprivation. But the desire which 
grows out of the immediate pleasure of satisfaction acts 



ON THE DESIRES AND PASSIONS. 449 

as a constantly impelling force, and thus leads to the 
regular supply of the necessaries of life. 

We derive pleasure, again, from the possession of 
money as the means of human comfort ; or of power, 
as the source of impressing our own will upon others. 
This pleasure creates an habitual desire in the mind, 
which is expressed by such terms as acquisitiveness, 
avarice, ambition, love of power, &c. The pleasurable 
feeling we receive from such bodily or mental excitants 
as those above mentioned does not logically involve the 
desire of them. We may be perfectly satisfied by the 
pleasure itself, and not look beyond it into the future. 
The desire is a mental attitude, which grows out of the 
pleasure, and which may be easily traced in its growth 
by a little attentive observation. 

Let us take the first example above adduced, that of 
the desire for food. The child finds by a few experiences 
that the unpleasant feeling he is subject to when hungry 
is removed, and converted into a positive pleasure, by 
means of food. Hence, by the simplest principle of 
mental association, he is led, whenever the want returns, 
to seek the pleasure which the satisfaction of that want 
alioays brings with it. Every time he exerts his motor 
or volitional system in this direction, i.e., in the attain- 
ment of this pleasure, the tendency to repeat it is 
strengthened ; so that, in process of time, the specific 
desire for food, and the action following it, connect 
themselves most intimately with the want, and are 
aroused by the most distant idea of the pleasure which 
lies in its satisfaction. Should this tendency to seek 
pleasure in food become excessive, through want of other 
interests, or through habitual devotion to the gratifica- 
tion of the senses, it rises almost to a passion, and is 
termed gluttony or Epicureanism. In the case of the 
pleasure derived from drinking, there is, in addition to 

G G 



**w*\. 



450 ON THE FEELINGS. 

the satisfaction of thirst, a new superadded pleasure, in 
the exhilaration produced by stimulating liquors, — a 
pleasure which consists simply in the temporary eleva- 
tion of the common sensibility. The desire for drink, 
accordingly, much more easily grows to excess than that 
of eating ; the elevation of the cceneesthesis being in 
itself a great additional gratification, and, at the same 
time, producing a temporary oblivion of all that is dis- 
agreeable in our ordinary mental or bodily states. 

Exactly the same process as that above described takes 
place in regard to our higher or mental desires. Thus, 
money supplies a want, and creates a positive mental 
pleasure by the resources which it opens up to us. 
Hence we associate the possession of money with the 
pleasure which we have ordinarily derived from its uses. 
By degrees the effort we make to secure these advan- 
tages grows into a confirmed habit, which strengthens 
more and more by daily repetition, and at last produces 
what we term avarice. The steps, accordingly, by which 
" the desires " are created are now sufficiently obvious. 
First, there is a feeling of pleasure arising from some 
elevation of the common sensibility, or of our mental 
forces ; secondly, this pleasure is associated with the 
object (whatever that may be) which produces it ; 
thirdly, the absence of this pleasure, when expected, 
leads us to desire the object with which it is asso- 
ciated, and to which we look for its gratification; and, 
lastly, by the force of repetition, this desire grows up, in 
extreme cases, into an habitual tendency, which influ- 
ences the entire character. 

Now the passions are not generically different from 
the desires. In our proper or normal condition reason is 
the guide by which we are directed in all our actions. 
Consequently the desires, instead of having the entire 
control of our activity, ought in their turn to be sub- 



ON THE DESIRES AND PASSIONS. 451 

jected to the superior control of our rational nature. It 
should depend upon reason whether the desires we may 
form in our minds are ultimately approved of, and prac- 
tically sought after. It often happens, however, that a 
desire, when long indulged and inordinately pursued, 
masters the reason, and, regardless of consequences, 
bends the will to its uncontrollable sway. When any 
desire has become sufficiently strong to do this, we 
usually term it a passion. The passions, therefore, are 
simply intensified and permanent desires, which more or 
less decidedly control the reason and the will. 

A rough classification of the passions may be made 
exactly on the same principle as that which we followed 
in the case of the feelings. Just as there are two great 
classes of feelings : — 1st, those which are indefinite and 
subjective ; and, 2ndly, those which are attached to 
specific and assignable objects ; so, also, are there two 
similar classes of desires and passions. « There are 
desires and passions which have no definite object, but 
which consist only in a vague inward longing for phy- 
sical or mental gratification. And there are also desires 
and passions (and these are by far the most numerous) 
which do attach themselves to specific objects, and impel 
us strongly to their acquisition. On these two classes 
of passions we shall next bestow a few brief elucidations. 

I. — The Subjective Passions. 
Desire, if it has no specific object towards which it 
gravitates, can be nothing else than an inward longing 
or craving for a pleasurable state of existence not at 
present possessed. This longing may have especial 
reference either to sensuous gratification or to mental 
enjoyment. All men desire more or less the gratifica- 
tion of the senses ; but a very large portion of them are 
so engaged in other interests, duties, occupations, or 

g g 2 



452 ON THE FEELINGS. 

intellectual pursuits, that the search after the pleasures of 
sense is set aside as something low and unworthy, in 
comparison with the higher objects which they habitually 
pursue. In this way, the craving for pleasure more fre- 
quently than not is prevented from growing into a passion, 
and kept wholly subordinate to the reason and the will. 
In like manner, the desire for mental gratification is also 
prevented from becoming an over-ruling passion. The 
various objects of mental pursuit are in themselves so 
important, so necessary, or so attractive, that the habit 
of mere intellectual dilettanteism has some difficulty to 
attain the character of an overruling impulse. 

There are cases, however, in which the inward craving 
for pleasure, both sensual and mental, does take posses- 
sion of the whole nature of the man, and becomes the 
dominant ground of his conduct. There are natures 
which appear to have an indomitable bent towards the 
gratification of sense — a bent so strong, that it leads 
wholly captive both the reason and the will. This bent 
may not have any special object to which it gravitates, 
but may be simply a dire necessity for sensuous excite- 
ment. The particular direction in which this excite- 
ment is sought is various. In some cases it takes the 
direction of narcotics, such as opium ; in others, it em- 
ploys intoxicating drinks ; in others, tobacco. Some- 
times, again, it breaks out in the love of stimulating and 
delicate food, and too often in lascivious conversation 
and conduct. It is related of a well-known English 
writer, greatly addicted to opium-eating, that, when de- 
barred from this pleasure, he would wander through the 
woods sucking a large stick of Spanish liquorice. The 
necessity for some kind of sensuous excitement was so 
strong, that any, even the vulgarest, means at hand were 
seized upon to satisfy it. The characteristics of this 
whole temperament are too well known and too fre- 



ON THE DESIRES AND PASSIONS. 453 

quently exhibited to need any lengthened description. 
We leave it standing here, in its proper place, designated 
as one of the most common, most baneful, and most de- 
grading of the passions which afflict our nature — a 
passion which dignifies itself by no definite pursuit, but 
which craves simply and solely for sensuous excite- 
ment, by whatever avenue such excitement may be pro- 
cured. 

Only next to this in its baneful effects on the 
character is the passion for mental pleasure, as such, 
without regard for any particular object of mental pur- 
suit. This may also take a great variety of forms. The 
love of change, of company, of gossip, of novel-reading, 
when excessive, may be put down as examples of this 
passion. Idle dilettanteism in relation either to literature 
or art will sometimes degenerate into the mere craving 
for mental excitement, and thus become a subjective 
passion of the nature we are now describing. 

In fine, the sybarite may be looked upon as a kind of 
type of this whole character. All pain or toil, whether 
mental or bodily, is, in his case, to be shunned as an in- 
tolerable evil, and pleasure is to be the great aim of life. 
It little matters by what channels this pleasure is con- 
veyed, or whether it be gained through the gratification 
of the senses, or through mental amusement ; pleasure is, 
in both cases alike, the passion which has to be gratified, 
and pain or labour the one great evil which has to 
be avoided. For these two ends, all the higher purposes 
of the intellect and all the nobler determinations of the 
will, with everything that involves self-sacrifice and 
earnest activity, are repressed and rejected. The mode- 
rate desire for pleasure may, indeed, give ornament and 
cheerfulness to human life ; but the passion for it 
destroys all that is purest and best in human cha- 
racter. 



5* 



454 ON THE FEELINGS. 

II. — The Objective Passions. 

The objective passions are those which aim at the 
acquisition of some definite end or object, and are, so 
far, much easier to be denned and described, inasmuch 
as their direction is, in each case, perfectly single and 
uniform. The objects at which they aim are threefold : 
1st, Self; 2ndly, Other Men; 3rdly, Things, and not 
Persons. 

I. Let us look at that whole group of human passions 
which are purely self -regarding. The tendency to make 
self the basis of our impulses and actions may have two 
main directions. 

(1.) First, we may be devoted to self, as such, and 
our whole conduct may, in consequence, have regard 
entirely to the convenience, pleasure, aggrandizement, 
and development of our own personality. There is such 
a thing, indeed, as a natural selfishness implanted within 
us in the form of a primitive impulse, aiming mainly at 
our self-preservation. We are all impelled by this instinct 
to seek our own well-being, and to guard against personal 
injury ; nay, even to employ the natural means for 
securing our own physical happiness. Self-preservation, 
as this fact has been often expressed, is the first law of 
nature. But selfishness, viewed as a passion, is some- 
thing wholly different from this. It is not an instinct 
aiming at our well-being, but an acquired mental ten- 
dency, in which the desire for self-indulgence and self- 
aggrandizement has become by habit and association so 
strong, as to reign paramount over all the other motives 
and considerations which go to determine human con- 
duct. Viewed in this light, it is a passion having 
self alone for its object. 

(2.) But we may be influenced, not by the love of 
self, as such, but by the inordinate appreciation of our 



ON THE DESIRES AND PASSIONS. 455 

own worth. This will often lead to a course of conduct 
wholly different from selfishness in the other sense. A 
certain amount of self-appreciation and self-respect is 
one element in every great and noble character; an 
excess of this appreciation is what we call pride. Pride 
is not necessarily self-seeking. So far from this, it is 
often ready to sacrifice all the comforts of life for the 
sake of maintaining what it considers the dignity and 
worth of the individual. When it becomes an over- 
ruling passion, however, it leads us unduly' to depreciate 
others, and descends to the littleness of imagining our 
own worth the sole object for which we have to live 
and labour. 

A noble application of the two passions of selfishness 
and pride, is the unconquerable love of freedom — a 
passion in which all that is good in both seems to 
be combined, without any of the vice which so often 
attaches itself to them. To love freedom is at the same 
time to have a due regard to our own interests, and 
a proper value of our own worth. It may be regarded, 
therefore, as a passion in the highest degree conducive 
to the real progress and improvement of humanity 
at large. 

II. The second group of passions consists of those 
which have (not ourselves, but) other individuals for their 
object. 

(1.) If the desire we experience in reference to others 
relate directly to their personality it gives rise to love. 
If we desire inordinately to gain respect, regard, and 
admiration from others, we term it love of honour, and, 
under some phases, vanity. Lastly, if we desire to exer- 
cise inordinate influence over others, w r e are said to be 
animated by the love of power, or ambition. 

Of these passions the most powerful and universal 
is love. The word love, as used in common life, is 



456 ON THE FEELINGS. 

extremely indefinite. We love an old tree or a fine ruin • 
we love mankind at large ; we love our mother and our 
friend ; and we love, most of all, the person selected to be 
the one companion of our life joys and sorrows. But we 
see, at once, that the term love, as implied in these 
cases, is used in extremely different senses and intensities. 
The love we bear to inanimate objects is rather a pleasing 
association or an aesthetic pleasure than a desire. The 
love we bear to relatives and friends may rise almost to 
the height of a passion, and lead us, irrespective of any 
rational considerations, to desire their society and their 
welfare as the first object of our lives. But the term love 
only indicates a passion of the highest order when 
employed to express the intense desire *for perfect unity 
and communion between two persons of different sexes. 
And here, too, we must separate what really belongs to 
love, as a pure and elevated passion, from the mere 
gratification of the sexual instinct. The sexual instinct, 
taken alone, can find its satisfaction in persons for whom 
there is no love, and with whom there is no desire for 
any close and intimate connexion in life. But the great 
characteristic of the passion of love, properly so called, is 
an. intense desire for the sole and perfect possession of the 
beloved person ; that is, for the possession of his or her 
confidence, affection, society — in a word, of the entire 
personality. So far as the sexual union forms part of this 
idea of perfect communion, it enters as an element into 
the passion of love ; but it can be wholly withdrawn, 
without causing the strength of the real spiritual passion 
to suffer any sensible diminution. Where love takes full 
possession of the mind, it completely answers to the defi- 
nition of the passions we have above given, viz., that 
they are desires, which attain such a degree of strength, 
that they completely master the reason and control the 
will. 



ON THE DESIRES AND PASSIONS. 457 

Hatred is the exact opposite of love, and may be re- 
garded as the polar extreme of the same mental tendency. 
Daily experience shows us that there is an infinite grada- 
tion in the mental attitude which we may hold towards 
another, from passionate attachment down to entire in- 
difference, and from indifference still downwards to posi- 
tive abhorrence. 

(2.) The second of the group of passions we are now 
considering is the love of honour. When this desire 
sinks down simply to a frivolous love of admiration, 
whether of our persons, dress, mental endowments, or any 
other quality we may possess, we term it vanity. When 
vanity becomes a national vice, it often rises quite to 
the rank of a passion, and holds the reason of the nation 
so far in its hands, as frequently to dictate its policy. 
Wounded vanity, whether in a nation or an individual, 
is not unfrequently so strong a motive to action, as com- 
pletely to rule the higher dictates of sound policy in the 
one, and morality in the other. The love of honour, 
however, may assume a much higher form than that of 
mere vanity. It may be an intense desire for the appre- 
ciation of the wise and the good. If this feeling degene- 
rate, however, into a slavish regard for the opinion of the 
world, it may again become a dangerous passion. On 
this passion, for example, has been based the practice of 
duelling, which exhibits the phenomenon of a morbid 
love of honour becoming a stronger motive to action even 
than the love of life itself. 

(3.) The desire for power has not the natural opportu- 
nity of becoming a ruling passion so frequently as most 
other desires. The checks which it is subject to on all 
hands, in the great majority of individuals, limit its 
growth, and keep it within reasonable bounds. The 
example of numerous kings and tyrants, however, shows 



458 ON THE FEELINGS. 

us that the love of power may become the ruling passion 
of a man's life, and constitutes a motive which can bend 
the reason entirely to its purposes, and find its extinction 
only in death itself. 

III. The third group of passions consist of those which 
have things, and not persons, for their object. 

There are innumerable objects around us which we 
desire, and many which we desire with no inconsiderable 
degree of intensity. Almost any of these objects may 
become gradually so essential to our happiness, that the 
desire for them grows up into a passion, and overcomes 
all other considerations, of whatever nature. 

The two directions, however, in which external things 
can become most readily the objects* of human passion 
are those of acquisition and amusement. Money, we all 
know, may easily become the basis of a passion, — a 
passion so strong as to subdue the reason, and enslave 
the mind to its pursuit, without any corresponding use or 
enjoyment of it whatever. Games of various kinds some- 
times grow up to be the objects of passionate desire ; and 
so intense is the enjoyment they bring to some natures, 
that they are willing to sacrifice everything to its acqui- 
sition. Hunting becomes a passion when eagerly pur- 
sued ; and there are not a few who, in the heat of the 
chase, will face dangers which threaten even life itself. 
Gambling is a mixed passion, composed of the love of 
gain on the one side, and the mental tension which the 
constant uncertainty produces, on the other. Owing to 
this double influence, it attains easily an extraordinary 
degree of intensity. It is not necessary, however, to 
enumerate all the different things which may become the 
objects of passionate desire. The nature and origin of 
desire itself we already know ; and it only needs the law 
of repetition to be applied to elevate almost any human 



ON THE DESIRES AND PASSIONS. 459 

desire whatever to a pitch in which it becomes a motive 
stronger than the reason or the conscience, and thus 
assumes the character of a human passion. 

The influence which is exerted by the passions upon 
the human faculties is a subject which belongs to prac- 
tical rather than theoretical psychology. As it is the 
nature of all passion to excite the physical and mental 
forces, and cause them to increase in intensity, we can 
at once understand that the activity of all the faculties 
will be promoted by it. While their activity, however, is 
promoted, they receive at the same time a bias corre- 
sponding to the objects which the exciting passion has 
specially in view. In this way the understanding, while 
stimulated, will be w T arped so as to see reasons only on 
one side ; the imagination will form the most vivid 
pictures, but they will all be in the direction in which 
the desires are pointing. The power of language will be 
intensified, and floods of eloquence poured forth under 
the influence of passion, even by those who ordinarily 
show little or no tendency to vigorous utterance. The 
will attains, in the same way, an iron power of determi- 
nation, sees no difficulties in the path of realizing what 
the passions dictate, and continues unwearied in its 
efforts until the end is secured, or the passion dies away. 

The great practical rule for the government of the 
passions lies in the motto, " Obsta principiis." While 
the desire is moderate, and the tendency undeveloped by 
long repetition, reason and conscience and volition can 
perform their part ; but once let the jjassion become 
dominant, and the reason will be warped, the conscience 
seared, and the will led captive by its power. 






CHAPTER VII. 
CHARACTER. 

We have now gone successively through all the stages 
of the development of the human mind. We have seen 
how the faculties are constructed, one after the other, 
from the first primordial instincts up to the highest 
exercise of the reason and the will. We have, likewise, 
pointed out the nature and origin of the feelings, and 
shown how feeling, united to volition, forms those 
impulses which we designate by the term desire. Lastly, 
we have shown, how the desires develop often into the 
most dominant passions of our nature. Throughout all 
these various stages of our mental growth there is the 
same great twofold law ever in operation. It is by the 
union or blending of like residua, and the distinction 
and separation of unlike, that we can account for the 
gradual rise of all our active and intellectual powers • 
$nd it is into the same elements that these various 
powers may, in their turn, be ultimately analyzed. 

In the midst of the uniformity, however, which these 
great laws of mind present, there is this startling fact 
obtruding itself ever on our notice, namely, that they 
never, in any two cases, bring about perfectly identical 
results. The laws of nature, if brought into contact 
with the same elements, always evolve the same phe- 
nomena. In the world of mind, on the contrary, 
sameness is a phenomenon wholly unknown. 

The primary foundation of this variety in human 



CHARACTER. 461 

character is laid, no doubt, in the specific individuality 
of every human being. Character does not depend, 
however, merely, not even mainly, upon our original 
individuality. It depends, rather, upon the massing of 
our mental experiences, and is, in fact, but the name 
we give to the integral result, which is produced by the 
whole process of our mind-development, when brought 
to its full maturity. Individuality only appears in the 
form of a subjective bias ; it is, so to say, a peculiar 
hue thrown over all the activities of the mind, whether 
they be developed or undeveloped. Hence it shows 
itself as strongly in the child as it does in the man, as 
strongly where no character is yet formed as it does 
where the character is fixed and determined. That the 
primary individuality with which we are born has some- 
tiling to do in the formation of the character is still 
true, for it is this individuality which gives a bent to 
our mental sympathies, and thus greatly contributes to 
determine the course in which our faculties operate, as 
they are in process of formation — to determine, there- 
fore, the hind of experiences which we amass on the 
road. Still, although this fact of individuality lies in 
the background as a modifying condition, what we 
mean by character is, specifically, the whole result which 
is formed by the entire process of mental growth, as we 
have followed it up in the preceding chapters. 

Let us take a general view of the elements out of 
which human character is constructed, and the mode in 
which these elements are appropriated. First of all, the 
character of every individual depends largely upon the 
intellectual habits which he forms. A vague, indefinite, 
wandering, inconstant habit of mind is highly detrimental 
to the formation of a high character. Clear-headedness, 
the opposite of all this, is due mainly to two intellectual 
processes, — first, the massing of similar residua, so as 



■■ 



462 ON THE PEELINGS. 

to form well-defined generalizations, and, secondly, the 
well-developed power of separation and distinction, so as 
to hold unlike residua clearly apart, and form them into 
groups and series by means of the laws of association. 
The faculty of generalizing, by means of similarities, and 
of drawing clear lines of separation where there are 
differences to be noted, is a mental habit which grows 
up by the daily influence of our mental experience. 
When education, example, external circumstances, occupa- 
tion, and so on, lead us to apply these great laws of the 
intellect in the daily business of life, the capacity of 
classifying, separating, drawing conclusions, and tracing 
consequences, becomes fixed by the force of repetition, 
and our intellectual activity is aroused in this direction 
by every fresh phenomenon presented. Thus, by degrees, 
it becomes a maxim of our practical life not to follow 
appearances, not to look merely at one side of a ques- 
tion, not to decide upon partial and insufficient evidence, 
but to consider well every representation, to note its 
practical bearings, and to follow up its consequences 
irrespective of the present enjoyment which it may hold 
out. Intellectual habits of this kind can only be formed 
by the multiplication of intellectual efforts, and without 
such habits there can be no solid basis on which our 
determinations are grounded. 

But, secondly, if human character depends largely 
upon intellectual habits, it depends still more immedi- 
ately upon the volitional habits we cultivate. The 
difference between a weak and a strong will, between a 
will that is determined by impulse, and one that is 
determined by reflection, between a will that bends 
before the authority of truth and right and one that 
disregards everything but present desire, forms the 
great line of distinction between a worthy and a worth- 
less character. But that which gives the direction to 



CHARACTER. 463 

the will is the mass of volitional residua which we 
accumulate in one or the other direction. When the 
will has been always allowed to act without restraint, 
following present impulses in place of rational or moral 
convictions, the tendency to continue in the same 
path becomes, by the accumulation of volitional bias, 
irrepressible, and the character takes the fixed stamp of 
what may be termed an irrational and an immoral 
selfishness. On the contrary, when the power of moral 
authority is inculcated, and the habit is formed of 
regarding it as the true guide of the will, in place of 
immediate inclination, the result is that certain practical 
maxims are formed by which our daily life is regulated. 
These maxims are the result of intellectual and moral 
considerations, which we learn to apply to the various 
relations of human life, and then use as tests by 
which the will is determined as to the course which it 
has to follow under all circumstances. Just as the 
generalizations of the intellect form categories by which 
our knowledge is regulated and classified, so do these 
maxims, which we develop by the accumulation of 
volitional residua, form practical principles by which we 
are enabled to guide our conduct. 

Lastly, character depends largely upon the regulation 
of the desires and passions. Passion, as we have seen, 
is a desire which has grown to such a pitch of intensity 
as to overcome the dictates of the practical reason. The 
possibility of such desires being formed must depend 
upon the repetition of those acts by which the primary 
pleasure is sought for and obtained. Hence the great 
aim of moral education should be to give healthy 
occupation, rational enjoyments, and pure desires. By 
doing this, sensual and hurtful desires are antagonised, 
and the mind being diverted from them by other 



464 ON THE FEELINGS. 

occupations and interests, they have no means of 
growing up to the intensity of a passion. 

Whatever course the daily experiences of life may 
take, this course will, inevitably, in the long run, form 
the outline of the character. Education, therefore, in 
the widest sense of the word, is the great regenerator of 
human society. To it we must owe the intellectual 
habits we form, the power which the reason and con-* 
science have over the will, and strength we possess to 
regulate the desires and to subdue the passions. What- 
ever be our character, it is something artificially con- 
structed ; and education properly considered is the art of 
constructing it well. How impossible is it, therefore, to 
over-estimate the importance of drawing every influence 
and every motive, whether it be derived from philosophy, 
from ethics, or from religion, into the service of educa- 
tion, in order that the scale of human character may be 
raised, and the catalogue of evils which at present 
afflict society may be gradually diminished ! 

To this great end it is our hope and belief that a 
more deep and practical psychology must also contribute, 
as it alone can expound the theoretical laws and 
principles on which all true human education must 
proceed. 



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